Facing Great Expections
Reflections on a 100-mile anniversary
Today (May 14) marks the 4-year anniversary of completing my first 100-miler, the 2022 SAMO 100. Sometimes I want to go back to the runner I was back then.
In 2022, I still had wonder. Curiosity. A certain naïveté. I had a solid Why (three of them, actually). There were a lot of things I didn’t know about myself. What will happen when things go south? When the chips are down, what version of me will show up?
I still remember the early miles of the inaugural 2022 SAMO 100, a roughly 104-mile race with more than 19,300 feet of elevation gain that traversed the Santa Monica Mountains. I was running with a pack of 5 other guys. We were comparing our training. These vets spoke about their 50-mile and 100k efforts they did leading up to the start. Having maxed out at roughly 28 miles, I began to question my preparation: We’re barely 5 miles in, can I go another 99? Who do you think you are?
Indeed, imposter syndrome was real, and as I clicked through mile 18, I felt it even harder when I saw a few other runners hammering up the pass a couple miles ahead. Power hiking, with hands on knees, I remember telling myself to be patient, that this is your race, this was your choice to be out here. You get to do this.
As the heat of the day began to rear its head, things just got harder. At this point, it was a blessing that I was new to this, that I didn’t have a rigid heat protocol. I just thought that temps in the 90s were to be expected, that this is ultrarunning, that this is what they meant when they talked about suffering.
While it was unknown and scary and foreign to me, it was also so exciting. I get to run with the big dogs, I get to experience the highs and lows everyone talks about. Bring it on!
When I set out on this ultra journey, all I really wanted to do was suffer. Not for the sake of it, but to experience hardship. I wanted to see how my body and mind would respond when things got bleak. Seeing others talk about it, I needed to see what that was like first-hand.
While previous experiences gave me a taste of suffering, the 2020 Sean O’Brien 100k comes to mind, before SAMO, I’d never had the opportunity to hit rock bottom in a race.
And boy did I ever during that first 100.
The first big low struck at mile 42, and it was deep, if existential. There I was, all alone, exposed and baking in the hot SoCal sun. At that point, I’d only covered 42 miles, and I still had at least 62 miles to go. I sat in the dirt, slipped off my pack, and reached for a stash of dried mango slices I’d packed in case of emergency.
Working through a jerky-like piece, I went through several stages of grief. Denial (this isn’t happening), anger (how could you do this to yourself?), bargaining (ok, just get to the next aid station, then you can call it), depression (this is the worst thing ever, and you’re not good enough), and finally acceptance (this is what you signed up for; figure it out). It was a flurry of feelings, a succession of sentiments (ok, enough alliteration already), and after the sulk fest was over, I dusted myself off and continued on.
Once I chose to press forward, I knew I’d finish my first 100. I knew that, despite the enormity of the task ahead, I’d navigate it. After all, I said I was going to do it. More importantly, I was determined.
Between mile 43 and the finish at mile 105.6 (I got lost, hence the extra distance), there was a lifetime’s worth of stories. But the point of this post isn’t to relive those glorious moments. Rather, it’s to reflect on what might be next.
As demonstrated during April’s Leona Divide 100k, I didn’t run with the same North Star, zeal, or curiosity. No, that run was purely outcome based. I ran it primarily to earn another entry to the Western States lottery.
While I was thrilled to be able to share some miles with friends on the gorgeous PCT, I didn’t approach the race with a lot of anticipation. It was almost as though I was going up there to check a box. And when you’re setting off to do something really hard with only the outcome in mind, you don’t have much to fall back on once the race goes sideways.
Reflecting on my decision to drop to the 50M finish, it underscored a fundamental challenge I’m facing. It’s this:
I don’t like who I am when things get hard.
Bear with me.
When the wheels came off at Leona Divide, I didn’t double down and fight harder. Instead, I relented, cowered to my corner of the ring, and effectively called it quits.
Ok, maybe I’m being a bit unfair to myself. Like, dude, you still ran 51.6 miles; you still ran 50 miles despite torpedoing your race through poor nutrition, a rookie mistake that maybe wasn’t a mistake in hindsight and more like a failed experiment (the question: Could I run a 100k on a bum leg while fueling like an elite ultrarunner [i.e. subsist on gels]?). You still came back from the dead. You still ran well in the final two miles after, like a dummy, not eating anything substantial in the prior 8 hours and 31 miles). You still puked and rallied.
It’s hard to say, but what I need to find is that sense of wonder. I need to find a new unknown, something that will allow me to focus on the journey and not the destination.
Last week, I was glued to the Mountain Outpost live feed as Rachel Entrekin broke all kinds of barriers on her way to outrunning the entire field and setting a new course record at the Cocodona 250. It’s not so much her result that captivated our imagination, but how she did it.
The two-time defending women’s champ not only ran it with zeal and hunger and curiosity. She also ran it with joy. F-CKING JOY.
And wonder.
In one of her many post-race interviews, Rachel retold that story of the Hopi woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere as she began the ascent up Mount Elden, the final major climb at Cocodona that begins around mile 246 and separates runners from the finish in Flagstaff. The woman slipped into Rachel’s hand some cornmeal, which the tribe believes holds the power to connect the physical and spiritual worlds, “ensuring sustenance, protection, and life-cycle blessings from birth to death.” Rachel says she rubbed some on her tired legs. She ended up running nearly all of the 2,400 ft climb to the summit LIKE A BOSS and set new PRs along the way. She also later had to confirm with a friend that she didn’t hallucinate the encounter, though proof of it was the leftover grains of cornmeal in the pocket of her shorts.
So, maybe that’s what I’m looking for. Maybe that’s what’s holding me back. I need to bask in the moment and worry less about the outcome and instead embrace what’s unfolding and what just might end up in my hand. Maybe I just need to take the time to truly appreciate the wonder and awe and sometimes mystical things that we get to experience on these adventures.
And maybe, at the end of the day, I just need to do the thing I said that I’d do – no matter how hard it gets or how long it takes me. Because somewhere in there is the kernel of truth that we are seeking. At the very least, it’ll unleash the wonder that got me started in the first place.
Cocodona lottery then? :)
Great, honest reflection! Can't wait to see where these thoughts and revelations take you. Let's keep the joy!