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”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lesson of the Legends – Part 2 -The Allure of the Buckle and 100 Miles

We all have goals that seem to be out of reach. But if we suspend our disbelief for a minute and let ourselves dream, we somehow believe that they are within reach.

Such is allure of the traditional buckle that is given out for running 100 miles. It seems crazy to run or even walk 100 miles, but it is possible since others have done it before. Yet as you age those traditional cutoff times loom as very large obstacles. Yet at A Race For The Ages (ARFTA) that obstacle is much smaller since you have as many hours as you are years old, so your dream seems much more reachable. But you still must accomplish it.

This is the story of two men who had never done 100 miles but wanted that buckle. They had different reasons but were both focused. Jim was 69 and from Kentucky and Tom was 75 and from North Carolina.

Right before the oldest runner Don took off there were a few of us hanging around the starting line talking to the race director and volunteers. I nonchalantly asked the veterans about a place to eat since I was not starting until tomorrow night. One of the other runners, who was also early was Jim. He was early because he mistakenly thought he was starting on Thursday, but he was starting on Friday. We all laughed. I had asked advice to the race crew about possible places to eat since I had 24 hours before I started. Jim was also interested in that answer. They suggested a few places, but I was not intrigued by any of them.

I searched online and came across a brewpub called Common John. Their menu looked intriguing and it was close to the race site. As I walked in it looked like a great place to hang out. As I walked up to the bartender to see if I sat myself or how the service worked, I saw Jim sitting at the bar.  So, I asked if I could join him. We sat and shared an early dinner and two beers. We had a great time getting to know each other over some good beer. Jim was from Kentucky and was determined to get a buckle. He was also an Army veteran. He was a few years older than me. Since neither of us knew anyone, it was great to share stories.

The next morning, I was walking the course well before my start time so I was familiar with it. I heard my name called from some cars and camps set alongside course. It was Jim. He showed me his setup, and we chatted with a few other runners from Mississippi. We decided to have lunch together at the same pub before we started our race. We had a great lunch again, although this time no beer. We had a great conversation, and he told me his experience with the VOL State run which covers 314 miles through the state of Tennessee. He did not finish that race. He had to drop out, which I believe fueled his desire for a 100-mile buckle even more.

Jim was 69 so he had a three-hour head start on me. I filmed his start of the race and sent it to him as a souvenir. He returned the favor and videotaped my start.

Jim’s strategy was to power walk the course since he had so much time to get his 100 miles. Mine was to both run and walk and sleep as little as possible to get as many miles as I could. I wanted more than 100 miles. So that meant most of the time we were separated but every time we saw each other we gave an update. The second night when I was fighting sleep deprivation and was actually weaving a bit when I was running, he told me “Ray you are all over the place.” Which I was and I soon took a nap after hitting the 100-mile mark.

I kept cheering Jim on every time we saw each other. I could hear it in his voice his excitement when he was getting closer. Even though he was in pain he was happy.  It is the excitement one gets when one is close to achieving an almost impossible goal.

Unfortunately, I did not see him get his buckle. I was napping at the time. I was pretty bummed out that I didn’t see it or Jim again. After he achieved the milestone, I knew he was going to sleep and then would drive home to Kentucky. It was weird not seeing him as I kept running. I missed him. We really hit it off.

Have you ever gotten to know someone through someone else? That is how I got to know Tom from North Carolina. He was a quiet man who was trying to do 100-miles for the first time at age 75.  His daughter Sarah was crewing him and she was just a delight. She knew almost nothing about ultra running. She was there for her dad. Yet Sarah soon was a popular person on the course. She started by making soap bubbles as the runners came by.  Later on, she got ice pops and gave them to the runners as they passed. Later she got some chalk and drew a hopscotch on the course along with some fun sayings. She said her father may do this again next year and I encouraged her to join him and just walk. She was thinking about it.

What I learned from Sarah was that her father was a runner but had never done 100 miles.  He was determined to do it. The last few years of his life had been as a caregiver for his wife, Sarah’s mother. She had suffered from Alzheimer’s and sometimes the only running he could do was running circles in his yard.

Tom was pushing himself, but he took a break to watch a college football game. He was using his 75-hours wisely.  Tom and I would wave to each other on the course.  I told Sarah to tell me when her father was on his last mile, and I would walk it with him. Which I did. Actually, the last mile and a half.

It was while I was walking with him that Tom filled in the gaps of Sarah’s version. His version was that it was very difficult emotionally to be a caregiver for an Alzheimer’s patient. A woman that he had known for almost of all of his life was not there. He said when someone has cancer the remaining time is a time to discuss a shared love. With his wife she did not want closeness or to be touched. I could tell it pained him. It was then that he said that he was doing this run to raise money for Alzheimer’s research. He had raised $10,000 and that was what was pushing him. It wasn’t the buckle but the cause. He was also very upset that the government was cutting funding for medical research. I could tell this was personal for him. I also know that working for a cause that he believed in helped motivate him to push through the pain and discomfort.

I had wondered why he ran in his yard when Sarah mentioned it but I did not ask her. Somewhere in our conversation he said he put his wife on the porch, and he could then get in his running in the yard and also keep an eye on her. He was seventy-five but had been an avid runner his whole life. He had run 5ks, 10ks, half-marathons, marathons, and even a 50k. 100 miles was the only one left and ARFTA had generous time limits, and he could do it without worrying about a cut-off time.

I could tell the race was not easy on his body. So, I was not surprised when he said that he was losing a toenail which I have done numerous times. He was in pain but determined. Then he said that he would never do this again. I must admit I was disappointed. I was hoping that he would come back again with Sarah and that she would join him. I really liked them.

When we got to the finish line for his one-hundredth mile Sarah was there to greet him and we snapped a few pictures of them together.

It is funny walking that last mile and a half with him I really got to know him. I could not stop though I had more ground to cover and continued on my race which seemed much less important than his. When I was done with my race, I texted Sarah and found his charity and made a donation.

Moving Forward in a Race and in Life When the Wheels Fall Off

We all have times in our lives when, despite all our preparations and effort, things fall apart. You come face-to-face with your own limitations. We confront the fact that the goal we set for ourselves may not be met.

This recently happened to me at a 12-hour race. It is almost always inevitable that in an ultra-marathon, something will go wrong. It is guaranteed that it will happen in your life. It is how we move on from those moments that define us. Here is a look at what happened.

It was an extremely hot and humid day at the SquatchySurprise 12-Hour Trail Race. I am not great running in heat. This was a hot humid day in the mid to upper eighties.  The sweat had soaked my shorts and t-shirt. I was dripping sweat, but I was not the only one. As other runners passed me, they glistened. They too had sweat-soaked shorts and tops. I thought I was doing okay.  I ran at a slightly slower pace to conserve my energy in the heat and I was careful to consume water and electrolytes. Yet as I came back from my loop after completing 30 miles, I was feeling a bit hungry but also queasy at the same time.

I plopped down in the chair that I had set up at my own personal aid station. I had a cooler full of various drinks, and a bin for additional gear to help me through the race.  On the lawn there were canopies and many other chairs and coolers, plus friends and family members of runners who would greet the runners and be their crew. Young kids were also running around playing games. It was basically a picnic with sweaty and dirty runners popping in and out.

I quickly went for a protein drink and some electrolytes. I then had some fresh fruit and some soda. I didn’t take too much of anything but I knew that I needed to stay hydrated and get some calories. I still had almost six hours left. Plenty of time to reach my goal of more than 40 miles. Then all of a suddenly my stomach revolted. I shot out of my chair and threw up a couple of times.  It shook me to my core. I berated myself for immediately drinking and eating when I felt a bit queasy coming in. I just sat there in my chair trying to regain my composure.  I looked around to see if anyone among the crowd had witnessed my low point. I didn’t see anyone staring. Then just a couple of minutes later my stomach revolted again, and I threw up a couple of times. I felt awful.

I sat in my chair contemplating my future in this run, Should I just stop now? No, I thought to myself. I haven’t even done a 50K. I glanced up across the clearing and saw a woman with a distraught look on her face. It gave me some validation that this was a rough day. I took solace that I was not the only one suffering. It wasn’t my proudest moment to be happy someone else was suffering.

I wanted to quit the race, but I would have felt like a failure. I was about ten or eleven miles from my goal of at least 40 miles. I still had plenty of time, but I was also suffering from the heat. As I sat there suffering, I knew that I had to change my approach. I took off my shirt and only wore my hydration vest. I also took my bandana and filled it with ice and wrapped it around my neck. I would take this next loop slowly and then reexamine my condition at that time. Hey, I thought to myself I have been miserable before and overcome it. Heck, I climbed out of the Grand Canyon just a few months prior and I was in bad shape then.

The first ¾ of a mile was a steep climb so I walked that part but once over that climb I began to run slowly. With no shirt and the ice around my neck I felt much better. The ice had completely melted by the time I finished my loop. I now had only six miles left to get to forty miles so I decided to go for it. I really ate very little but figured once again that I had climbed out of the Grand Canyon on an empty stomach. That was a more difficult climb. I could do it again.

On my last loop I knew that I had plenty of time to get over 40 miles. I was really beat and  somewhat surprised that I would finish 41 miles. I was so close to quitting and doubting my ability. Yet the decision to change my strategy really paid off.  Yet while I was happy with the results my body still was not happy at all.

When I got home, I was planning on eating some food and drinking a celebratory beer. However, I had no desire for food or beer. I kept drinking ginger ale with plenty of ice. My body needed to recover from the heat and my exertion. It needed rest.

It is funny. I always think that ultra races have so many life lessons about overcoming obstacles, planning, and determination. And they do. Yet in my recent race experience I hit a major obstacle, had self-doubt, and needed to figure a way to move ahead.

Well before I was an ultra-runner, I was a young man with a young family.  The position I had at work was eliminated. My reaction was pretty much the same as on the run. I sat down and felt sorry for myself for a short time then worked on a plan to move ahead professionally. Maybe all those down moments in life made me a natural born ultra-runner.

There are striking parallels between life and ultrarunning, yet there is a difference. At least for me. In life I always seemed a bit surprised and shaken when things go wrong, whether it is at work or my personal life. I am not prepared. In ultra-running I am usually not surprised when things go wrong. In fact, I try to anticipate what can go wrong and even prepare for it.

While expecting things to go wrong does not always make it easier to finish a run to its completion it does make it possible. There is one trick I have honed to get me through tough ultra marathons. I used it in this past race when I remembered my toughness in the Grand Canyon run. That is drawing strength from past successes and believing in yourself. Knowing that you had overcome a major obstacle before gives you confidence that you can do it again. That is why I like difficult challenges even at work. Once you have even a little success at a difficult chore it builds your confidence. The key word here is that the challenge needs to be difficult. You do not build confidence by doing easy things.

Not everyone is an ultra-runner. Yet when things go wrong in life, it helps to have the mindset of an ultra-runner. It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself and even berate yourself. But only for a short time. The next step is to figure out how to move forward. Think of past achievements and have confidence in yourself. We are all capable of more than we think.

Crewing for a Fragile Yet Tough 97-Year-Old Mother

As my sister and I toured the assisted living facility, we realized it had almost everything that my mother could need. Even so, I was not happy about it.

My mind flashed back to when I worked in a nursing home one summer. Although I worked on outdoor maintenance and cleanup, I was often inside and could observe the residents. It was a job my mother had helped me get, since she worked there as a nurse. It was a traumatic experience for an 18-year-old that is still with me. I remember telling my mother that when I get old, I never want to go to a facility like that! Why I expected my mother to have a say in that decision I have no idea. Although I sensed she understood. Yet here I was facing a decision along with my siblings on what was best for my 97-year-old mom.

My mother had taken a bad fall and broken her elbow, but the hospital and rehab stay had dimmed her memory and mental agility. Before the fall she lived by herself and while we had someone stop by every day, she was very independent. She was not a normal 97-year-old. She was feisty and up on what was going on. Now however she was weaker, meek, and was showing signs of confusion at times. It’s as if the fall and subsequent stay in medical facilities had not only injured her physically but had affected her mental facilities. The question was what was temporary and what was permanent.

My two brothers, my sister, and I immediately organized and made sure she had one of us visit her every day. We became her crew team. In ultra marathons like 100-mile runs, even elite athletes have crews. They are friends and family who wait for the runner at various points along the course providing physical and nutritional care, but their most important role is the emotional support keeping them going and sometimes even pushing them a little. I know on my 100-mile run I needed them. I was running in bad condition longing for my crew. On one race it is the only thing that got me through to the end.

In my mother’s case the crew is running to her. She is locked in one place. She was in a rehab facility with the same view. All the days are the same. There is no Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, just days. They are all the same. As she said to me “If it wasn’t for the news channel on the TV I wouldn’t have any clue what day it was.” It is a mind-numbing existence but a necessary one for her to heal her body. The staff was very attentive to her physical and medical needs but only the crew could give her an anchor to her memory.

I know sitting with my mother I could see her struggle to remember her fall. She was frustrated that she couldn’t remember. She was also fighting the tedium. I could see my feisty mom battling everything. We would take her outside on a patio if the weather was nice but that was just a short reprieve. It was not just my mother feeling the tedium. Even for me it was becoming monotonous and mind-numbing. She would ask me how long she had been here, and a few weeks in, I couldn’t remember.

The decision before us did not have many options that were appealing.  Yet we needed to make a decision. We ended up not going to the assisted living facility but instead had a recommended aide come live with her in her condo. Our belief was that while we could be her anchor in a strange facility, she needed a familiar setting that felt like home to help her. This would help her emotionally and mentally. We wanted our feisty mom back.

When we told my mother she would be leaving the rehab facility she was relieved and seemed to perk up.  She seemed to be coming out of her fog. Once I said to her that she seemed better. She then said to me something that illuminated up all those internal battles I could see her fighting. She said “I was afraid that this was the way it was going to end.” Meaning in that rehab facility. This was the first time I had ever heard my mother worry about dying and how it might happen.

We were all nervous when we brought her back home. She seemed okay with her aide, and we could tell she was happy to be home with her crew. Her crew can’t, however, be a 24/7 crew because we all have work and family obligations of our own. Hence the aide. Through those first two weeks we will still be checking in with her almost daily.

As I checked in with her on the first few days, I could see that she was sleeping and eating better. She also was more relaxed and happier. Yet it is still early. Unlike an ultra-marathon with a set time and distance that the crew must work, my mother’s fall now means the crew has a lifetime duty.

My mother is very lucky to have this crew. The crew is also very lucky to have each other. It is hard to be a caregiver. Often the bulk of the duties fall on one person, and it can be very taxing on a person’s own mental health.

My mother is tough and feisty and was a very independent woman. She was a bread winner when women in her generation were not. I do not think that it is a mere coincidence that all her sons married strong independent women and her daughter is strong and independent. Yet no matter how strong and independent you are we all need others. Her memory has been affected enough so that she cannot take care of herself. Being surrounded by caring people is so important. Having a good crew can make all the difference in the world.