There is a Price for Pushing Yourself to Your Limits in an Ultra

 

“I owned every second that this world could give
I saw so many places
The things that I did
Yeah, with every broken bone
I swear I lived” – OneRepublic

I believe strongly in pushing yourself to your limits.

Most times we do not even know what our limits are, or what we are capable of until we push ourselves. I have accomplished some things in running that I never dreamed of.

Since reaching the age of 60, I have run numerous races and ultra-marathons that I am proud of. Listing these accomplishments seems to give them a sense of inevitability that tends to minimize their difficulty.  Yet, as I was recently reminded, those difficulties are real and there is a price to be paid for pushing yourself to extremes.  

When I talk about the “price” I am not talking about the time put in for training or other considerations. I am talking about the price of failure. That price can be steep--sometimes very steep. The question is whether that price is worth it. This is something I ponder in every difficult endeavor.

You see on every ultra-marathon, even though I am running       solo, I have an unwelcome running partner who is not very supportive. Running alongside me is the possibility of failure. Because I am choosing to do something that is difficult for me, failure is a stronger possibility than if I had played it safe.

I was running a rugged 50K trail race in Bear Mountain, New York. The course was single-track, rocky, slippery, and had very few truly runnable sections. I felt good about my pace and stayed cautious on the slick, rocky parts. Then, while moving with the pack on a relatively flat stretch, I relaxed for a moment, tripped, and fell hard. I threw out my arms to catch myself, and the pain in my shoulder was immediately excruciating. With help from other runners, I got back to my feet and knew my race was over. I have fallen many times in trail races and am no stranger to pain. Usually, I shake it off and keep going, even if I have to walk at first. This time, though, my only thought was how to get medical help. I knew the injury was serious. It turned out I had broken the humerus in my shoulder.

I couldn’t remember how far it was to the next aid station. The other runners gave me conflicting answers from one mile to seven. While there was an aid station in about a mile and a half it was just a table in the woods with water. Even walking was painful as I had no use of my right arm. As I walked I used my left hand to steady and hold up my right arm. I was extremely lucky when two runners stopped to see if I needed help. One was trained in first aid and said I needed to put my arm in a sling. The other runner who didn’t know the first runner said “I have a roll of gauze.” And presto I had a sling.

While the sling helped, I still had to walk 3.5 miles to take a DNF (Did Not Finish). Yes, I had a solid reason for not finishing this race but I still found it hard to accept that I failed to finish. My very reason for running these races is to overcome difficult obstacles. As each runner passed me the pain of the DNF was more acute. I tried to take solace in the fact that if I hadn’t gotten hurt, I would have finished ahead of most of those runners. Yet I was still down. There would be no finisher medal and t-shirt for me.

It’s not like I was unaware of the possibility. After all when I registered for the race I had to sign a waiver that I was aware of the risks of doing a race like this.

Yet it was not just the DNF and the excruciating pain that I was in that had me thinking. All of the races and runs I had planned for the next couple of months would not happen. There was also the matter of my daughter was getting married in two weeks.

It was at the wedding that I paid another price for my injury. A couple of friends teased me about it. I had always said that ultra-marathons were “fun” which I know most people besides ultra-runners get. Now my friends wanted to know when the “fun” was starting. It is amazing how the result of your performance affects people’s perception of your actions. Last year I completed seven ultra-marathons and people complimented me and admired my accomplishments. Now, after this injury I heard the loud whispers. You are too old. This is too dangerous.

They obviously feel that the price I pay for pushing myself is too high. There is no way it can be worth it.

The question is what do I think of the possible price to attempt races that will test my limits? When I finish them, it is an easy answer. But when I fail, take a DNF, and am seriously injured it is still an easy answer. Yes, I would do the race again. In fact, I am scheduled to do the same race again next year.  Yes, the price was steep for this challenge. Yet those challenges would not be so rewarding if they were easy.

I have usually completed the hard races I’ve signed up for. That success breeds resiliency. That resiliency is what I needed to walk out of the forest and then drive over an hour home so my wife could get me medical care. That may seem like a steep price for one race. Yet the price I pay is for a lifestyle of doing hard things. When you look at all the races it is a small price to pay. In fact, if I include the resiliency and satisfaction of completing runs that were beyond my capabilities when I was younger, the price is miniscule.

We should not only try things when the risk of failure is very low. Easy victories are not life changing. Being afraid of failure will most certainly limit your success. I will admit however that talking about facing failure is easy when you succeed. For me now, I have to accept failure and plan a comeback that will most definitely rely on resiliency.  It will test my patience because this will be a slow and methodical recovery.

This comeback will take more effort to get to the starting line than most of my races took to get to the finish line. This will take more self-motivation than normal. I do have a goal of doing an ultra-marathon in September. It is a flat paved course so there is little risk of falling. Hey, I may be daring, but I am not reckless,

Ironically my motivation now comes from those people who think I should stop these races because of my age. Nothing motivates me more than proving the doubters wrong.

So, I hope I answered the question about the price of the challenge and whether it is worth it. Let me leave you with one final thought. The people who tend to think that the price is too high for pushing yourself, seem to be under the impression that there is no price or cost to bear doing nothing and playing it safe. I believe that there is a price. A steep price in fact. A life of wondering what if? Wondering what would have happened if you tried. A life filled with would’ve and could’ve.

I am not willing to pay that price. As OneRepublic says “Yeah, with every broken bone (literally in this case.) I swear I lived”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Running Fall that Derailed a Runner and a Writer

A little more than a week ago, I was on a trail race when I suddenly took a bad fall.  After hitting the ground, I knew immediately my race was over.  The pain in my right shoulder was excruciating.

I have fallen often on these races and usually just get up, walk off the pain and start running again. But this pain was different.  An x-ray confirmed my suspicions: I had broken the humerus bone in my right shoulder.  I am right-handed, so not only did this mean I couldn’t finish the day’s race; this was an injury that was going to hinder my everyday activities.

I prepared myself to make the necessary adjustments for the next few months. No running or races. There would be no driving, great difficulty sleeping, no cooking, and no washing dishes (Honestly, I was able to adjust to this rather easily.) In addition, many of the little things that we all take for granted—such as showering, brushing my teeth, and yes, even going to the bathroom—were going to be much more difficult. While all these things are frustrating, the thing that surprised and upset me the most was my inability to write.

This is not just the inability to use my right hand on the keyboard, although that was the first domino to fall. I realized that there were two options to write. The first would be to hunt and peck with my left hand. That’s obviously a very slow option, though since I am a “hunt and peck” typist now, that’s not as drastic a change as you might think. The other option was to use the “dictate” feature in Word and instead of having the words flow from my fingers, have them flow from my lips.

First, I tried just using my left hand – really just my left index finger – to type. That immediately proved to be frustrating. While I was able to answer emails, it took a lot longer than I wanted. It was like driving to a major event that you are late for and getting stuck behind a tractor-trailer going exceedingly slow uphill with no passing lanes for miles. The thoughts and ideas started backing up in my mind. It was a pileup of jumbled thoughts. While I loved some of the ideas, I ended up walking away from the traffic jam in my head.

Next up was the dictation feature. I thought this would be great. Instead of my fingers putting my thoughts down it would be my lips. Surprisingly, this was even more frustrating. I tried dictating a blog entry but there were times when I had to pause to find the right word and stopped talking. Something was being lost in translation from my mouth. I looked at what I had “written” and it was awful. The writing was so stilted and rigid. It was not even salvageable with editing.

Oh yes, editing. This is the other frustration not having use of my right hand. I am embarrassingly clumsy just moving the mouse with my left hand. While I always have a final work proofed, I have enough pride that I want the draft to be readable. This was not readable.

Since you are reading this you must be wondering what I did. First of all, I realized that there is pace for each writer and that the fingers and the brain work in unison. Sometimes the thought that you originally had comes out differently as you type it – in effect, you’re editing as you commit words to paper.  

You don’t want all your ideas to be trapped in that traffic jam in your head because you can’t get them out fast enough. My fall may have halted many things that I took for granted in life. However, it did ignite one thing in me—the desire to write stories about facing failure, coping with limits and making a comeback. I remember distinctly that as I was taking the painful 3.5 mile walk out of the forest after I fell, the thought occurred to me that this was a great story that I needed to write about.

I am old enough to remember when writing was an extremely time-consuming process. This was before there were laptops and the word processor. For me, typing an article took several steps. First, I wrote it down with pen and paper. Then I typed it up. After which I edited it and typed it again. Even then many of us needed to use a product called “Wite Out” to paint over mistakes and correct them. Deciding to move a paragraph from one place to another meant retyping the whole document. So, writing started as very arduous chore. I needed to adjust back to an earlier time.

To help myself adjust, I took a lesson from my running experience. I am an unusual runner. Most runners settle on a specific type of race and distance. They may do 5Ks, half marathons, marathons, or ultra-marathons. They don’t deviate too much from their comfort zone. I am different. Last year I ran anywhere from a 5K to 66-hour multiday run. From trail races to road races.  The key to adjusting to this variety of races is adjusting your pace. On a 5K I am flying, while during a multi-day race, I take my time and even sleep. So, I am used to adjusting my pace.

My problem in writing was that I was trying to write at a 5K pace when I needed to be going at a much slower pace. Pretty much an ultra-marathon pace. I went to my left-hand hunt and peck method. Yes, it was arduous and frustrating but like rehabbing from a physical injury in running, you have to start somewhere. There is one other thing that is similar to finding new way of writing, which is similar to coming back from a running injury. After I had completed a long arduous comeback from a knee injury in running, I realized what a gift it was to run. I appreciated that running had become part of my identity.

The same is true about writing. While I will never be a best-selling author or someone who is remembered for their graceful prose, it is still part of who I am.  It is worth working hard at to keep it in my life. I did not fully realize this until my fall.

It is not until you face the loss of something and realize that it is part of you that you put a concerted effort into getting it back into your life. You are not only willing to be frustrated, but take the frustration as a good sign.

I am quite frustrated and a bit down since my bad fall in the woods. Yet knowing what my goals are and why I need to achieve them provides me with motivation, patience and contentment on this challenging journey ahead.

The Starting Point for this Challenging Adventure was Using a Cane

I was opening my Facebook page when a memory came up for me to share. It was only from a year ago but it showed how far I had come in that year. It was a picture of a cane. It was a small step in my recovery from a stress fracture in my right knee. I was switching from crutches to a cane. A sign that I was on the mend. Yet here I am now almost exactly a year later planning on doing an almost 200 mile run. I had almost forgotten that I had that injury or at least it felt much longer ago.

As I write this I am only a couple of days away from running the length of New Jersey with two friends and a host of family and friends who will volunteer to help. I had been so consumed with the logistics of the run that I had felt that it was an adventure that started when we announced the run at the beginning of 2024. Yet this running journey began a year ago with me on my butt. Unable to walk let alone run.

I was so consumed with the future I had forgotten my roots. Yet now I was intrigued by the journey that was appearing on my Facebook memory.  It seemed a lifetime ago. Yet sometimes that is the way life is. A past experience seems like a different life. I went back to blog I wrote about my feelings and emotions of the injury. I read it to see if it matched what my recollections were.

To my surprise my memory of my feelings and emotions were pretty on point. It was a mix of bravado, determination, and fear. I was also taken by what I told the doctor in his office when he said I had to stop running and use crutches.

“When I run my next 100 mile run or the state of New Jersey again. I will let you know, so that other patients know what is possible.”

Actually, after I did my 100+ mile run in the fall I realized I never did let the doctor know. My mistake it is good for patients to know that complete recovery is possible.

Yet as I prepare to take that first step on my New Jersey running journey I am now taking time to reflect on a journey that I know a few people thought I would not be able to take at my age. Yet there were lessons in that journey that will help me in future hard journeys.

One of the biggest lessons learned was not a new one, but one that I had learned doing ultra-marathons. Break the goals into manageable parts.  Usually running 100 miles seems overwhelming especially when you are feeling a little tired but just running say ten miles to the next aid station is much more doable. Before you know it, the last aid station is five miles away and it means you have attained what you thought was impossible.

With my rehab I did the same thing. I went from crutches to using a cane. Then started walking without one. I also made sure that I was diligent about my physical therapy. I went to Jag Physical Therapy and worked with the staff there to continue my progress not so that I can walk again but so that I could run. This is not meant to be an advertisement for them, but they were a key partner in my comeback. That is because my goal was their goal. They wanted me to run again too.

I still remember the moment one of the physical therapist took me outside to the back of the office and said try and run. It was a moment that scared me. Yet it was an important step that I needed to take. This partnership with them was another lesson. We all need other people to support and encourage us. This is especially true when times are difficult.

After my physical therapy it was a slow ramp up from a 5K to a six-hour trail loop run, a marathon and then a 100 mile run. At each step I was methodical. They were each my next aid station.

There was a third lesson. That is that my rehab was not just on my body, but it was on my brain as well. Physical injuries will affect you mentally as well. I was literally running scared in the beginning. My steps were tentative and I was concentrating on my knee. It took a while before my mind not to think like I was an injured person. That was when I was healed when the mind and body ran together.

If you have ever hiked up a mountain and along the trail there is a great view of the valley below, I am at that stage. You gaze at the valley below with awe because this is why we hike mountains for the view. You also then look for where you started, and it looks so far and you take pride that your legs have taken you so far. I am at that point on my journey. Looking back with a little pride. But now I will turn my head from the valley below to the peak ahead. The journey is not over. I still have to navigate a difficult route before I reach my goal.

After that there is only one thing to do. Send an email to a doctor.

A Runner Feeling Lost Staying in Place with no Destination

I am looking lovingly at my gnarly toenail on my big toe. It is about to come off with a yellowish-purple hue and dried blood underneath. Most people would be repulsed and cringe at the sight of such an ugly toe but at this time I am admiring it. It is a symbol of who I was and who I want to be again. It is a souvenir of my last trail race, an ultra-marathon. A tough course that I was proud that I finished under the cutoff time. There are few things more exhilarating than finishing an ultra-marathon, marathon or a long trail race.

Yet I can’t plan any more races. I look down on the floor next to the recliner and gaze with frustration at my crutches. They will be my constant companions for the next month as I begin the long process of becoming a runner again. I am so longing to lose another toenail again.

You see I am lost. I am a runner who can’t run. In fact I can’t even walk at the moment. I remember the visit to the doctor’s office, to discuss my MRI. Going in I knew what to expect, a torn meniscus, with surgery to follow. I had researched the issues and was confident that while I would be sidelined for a while it would not be very long before I could start an active lifestyle again. Yes maybe I wouldn’t run an ultra-marathon soon but I would be able to run and walk fairly quickly. My orthopedist walked in and handed me the printout that described the MRI results. I was a little perplexed as to why he gave it me because my understanding of medical terminology is very limited. Basically when I am seeing a doctor my vocabulary is “Yes that hurts” and “Yes I feel awful”. Despite my limited knowledge I started scanning through the results and what I quickly spied was a separate paragraph that stated “shows no articulating meniscal tear” I was shocked! If it’s not my meniscus what is it I thought?

He soon answered my question “You have a bone issue”. It was a stress fracture of my knee bone. The only way for this to heal, is to not put weight on my knee. That meant crutches for a while and even when I was feeling better one crutch or a cane. I had to keep weight off of my right leg. No Running or even walking for a long time. He said I wouldn’t be running again until the summer and this was mid-March and so it was not even spring yet. I was scared because I knew that this was going to be hard for me. I am constantly in motion and now I had to slow down considerably.  Despite my trepidation I was still determined and told him “When I run my next 100 mile run or the state of New Jersey again. I will let you know, so that other patients know what is possible.”

My bravados of that statement however was confronted immediately as he handed me the crutches. He saw how I was looking at office exit and ready to depart his office quickly. His parting words of advice to me was “Think slow”. I quickly said I would and then hobbled out of his office rather quickly on my crutches. Lesson not learned.

Over the next few days however I learned that I would have to not only “think slow” but move slow. This slow action would be the quickest way to heal. That was easier said than done. When it is in your nature to be in motion it is hard to sit still. Even at work when I am at a meeting, I would buzz around a room talking to as many attendees as possible. Yet now I stayed in one place.

I was always able to persevere through a race despite pain and fatigue simply by focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and to keep moving. This is different. Very different. To push through, I actually have to not move. I am worried about the side effects of this healing process. Basically weight gain and becoming permanently lazy.

I now have a new appreciation for the difficulty that people with physical handicaps have to go through. Actions that people who are healthy do not even think about, now become obstacles. When one has to stop and think about “How am I going to get my cup of coffee from the counter to the dining room table?” you realize that this is some people’s everyday life. I come to a heavy door at a retail store and have to pause to contemplate how I am going to get in. My handicap is temporary and I am grateful.

While I cannot use some of my most basic strategies that I used in ultra-marathons to heal this time. There is one strategy I can and will use. That is to break the challenge up into smaller more attainable challenges. For example when I was running almost two hundred miles from the top of New Jersey to the bottom. I rarely thought of the entire feat. That would seem to daunting especially if you are exhausted. Even if I had completed over seventy-five percent of the run at a hundred and fifty miles and there was only forty-six miles left. That last forty-six miles seemed daunting. No I broke it up to just getting to the next aid station and that was usually around eight miles or so. It kept me fresher and focused on what was immediately in front of me. Everything was attainable.

I am doing that with this challenge. Yes I hate just sitting around. Yes I am itching to just get up and walk. Yes this is hard for me. Yet I just say every day I can get through this day. Unlike a race in which I may push through some of the aches and pains. Now I am in tune with my body to see if my pain is diminishing. Every time I sense it is getting better it gives me incentive to continue the process.

I won’t lie. This is killing me. Whenever you watch a video of an athlete’s comeback, it is a video of them working out hard, sweat pouring from their body an inspirational music like from the movie Rocky playing in the background. My video would be of a man sitting in a recliner reading a book or scrolling through his cellphone with the sound of a clock ticking in the background. Hardly inspirational.

There is one other thing that I have to overcome and that is doubt. I know at my age (63) this may take time to heal and that even when I run again I may have to alter my training. Yet I hear the doubt in others when they hear about my injury. A common retort is “You are getting old” or “age is finally catching up.” It really stings because they may be right.  I feel that some are thinking “Ray, you gave it a great run but Father Time is undefeated.” Yet this may be my biggest motivator. I like the challenges of aging. I like the challenge of doing the difficult. I don’t need to win a race… just finish it.

I know that most people will not understand this desire to push my body to its limits but it is who I am. Then again they probably don’t understand my desire to one day to lose another toenail.