I was sitting in a hotel room in Pensacola, Florida, on a warm and sunny October day in 2011, browsing YouTube. At that point I had been only a "kind of" runner, having completed my high school cross country career five years prior and only running intermittently since then. Sitting in the room, glowing light pouring in from the windows and having hardly any responsibilities to preoccupy my mind, I happened upon this video, a lecture on Ultra Running by self-proclaimed "frutarian", Michael Arnstein.
I had seen Mike's videos before and read his blog because at that point I, too, had been practicing a raw food diet for three years (and still am). However, I hadn't fully processed many of the things I had heard, until watching that lecture.
"Ultra Marathon". I knew what it was, at least the dictionary definition: any foot race greater than a marathon (which is 26.2 miles). I knew that people ran fifty miles. People ran one hundred miles. However, upon hearing the term before, "Ultra Marathon"... my brain automatically dumped it into the self-prescribed box where human beings habitually place all of their I-could-nevers and that's-for-other-people-but-not-for-mes, things like mastering a craft, overcoming an addiction, or pursuing love. It didn't even register as something that was possible for me. The idea entered the ear, expertly circumvented self-reflection, and dove straight into the box.
After watching the lecture, though, something changed. A rusty circuit in my brain sparked, and suddenly flicked from off to on... impossible to possible. I recognized in myself something, deep down, that would like to accept this challenge before me. I wanted to test myself... to answer the question: "do I have what it takes?" Also, as a three-year raw foodist myself, I was interested if my diet would carry me through the challenge as well as it seemed to carry Mike (his credentials). There are certainly nay-sayers who would heatedly argue against a frutarian's potential for athletic success. And I was not totally sure that they were wrong.
The most inspiring point in the lecture was when Mike gave the true definition of Ultra. Over the past year, and after completing my first fifty miler, I have come to accept a slightly modified version of his definition. To me, an ultra run can be any distance. For one person it might be two miles, while for another person, two hundred. The distance is irrelevant but what is important are the barriers through which one passes: physical, mental, emotional, spiritual. Most people stop at the first barrier they encounter. To persist, passing through mental and emotional stages, and then to dance in the spiritual realm - that is an ultra run. It keeps you coming back for more because at the end, at your final destination, is yourself. Ultra runners want to discover more and more of themselves. Through self-discovery and communion with the trail, many experience God. If you do not feel compelled to return to that place, then you did not experience an ultra run. I do not believe that this experience can be explained by human chemistry as some would like it to be. An ultra run is deeply freeing to the human soul. It carries the soul into, and holds it within, the present moment. It forces confrontation with physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual realities.
That October, I began to run. Not astoundingly far, but often and with a steadily increasing eagerness. I found that simply accepting the possibility of completing an ultra delivered a great sense of power, even before any results manifested from training. Every day I felt stronger, faster, better. What was really taking place, under the surface of the run- I was letting go.
Three months after inspiration struck, I competed in my first 50K. I had initially searched for a marathon to try upon returning to Maryland. However, to my disappointment there were none I could find less than six months out. The soonest run at least a marathon in distance was this one. "Well, its only 6 extra miles...", I thought. I was aware it was a "trail run", but my mind was filled by memories of trails from back home growing up: flat, packed gravel hardly presenting greater challenge than pavement. On the day of the race, as I toed the starting line I saw the beginning of the course for the first time. I looked off into the distance where the trail led, and I realized I might be in for a bit of a surprise.
After twenty miles, stopping at an aid station, I was broken. Every muscle in my body was throbbing. The course was riddled with hills that I had not been prepared for at all. I sat down and dreamed of never standing back up ever again. The race volunteers kindly offered to drive me back to the start. I seriously considered it and slightly resented them for placing me in the dilemma... I hadn't trained on real trails and was unprepared both in terms of strength and strategy. The offer tempted me like the thought of bursting up out of the water tempts one straining to win a breath-holding contest. My brain was screaming at me to stop, however I came out of the daze and shook away the thought. I was determined to finish, so I got back up on my feet and started off again. I largely walked the remainder of the course, though even walking felt like a run, but I made it. Sitting down at the finish line was one of the best feelings I have ever felt.
That's not an ideal start on the ultra journey, however its mine and I've come to look back on it fondly. My main goal in writing this is to inspire you to live. Maybe you will express that life through ultra running, or maybe you will express it through some other venue. I'll write more about the diet I follow as I document training and write race summaries. I'd like to leave you with these thoughts: allow yourself to be inspired, believe that you can exceed your own expectations, let go of fear, and be patient.
Thanks for reading. You can do it.
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