Why?

This past weekend, I ran in the Razorback 48 hour Ultramarathon. My goal was simple: run further than I have ever run before. As you know, things can get a little boring and lonely. At night, to keep occupied, I’ll take my phone and start texting friends. It is a way to keep my mind busy. Now, I was already behind in the race. I wanted to do about 130 miles but I started on trails which had some nasty hills, so I was about 15 miles behind where I wanted to be. My goal was to stay up until I hit 100 miles then nap. Once I hit 100, everything else would just be icing on the cake. So I was in for a long night and it was cold.

At about mile 80, I texted my friend. If I was lucky, she would be home. She is very sweet, funny and liked to talk about sex (yes, you can want sex after 80 miles) so I thought she would the perfect one to motivate me through the night. Now, she’s not a runner and doesn’t understand how anyone could like doing it, no matter what the distance. I don’t bother trying to explain it to her. We are just different that way. We were talking and she asked me why anyone would put themselves through the rigors of an ultramarathon. I knew she wanted to know. I didn’t really have an answer. I just said it was fun and that ended it.

Here’s the thing: I wasn’t having fun. Hell, I was downright miserable. It was cold and wet. My body hurt, I was tired and I had a ton left to do before I could lie down in my little tent, dirty, and get a couple of hours of broken sleep. Unbeknowest to her, my friend had given me about three hours of fodder for the mental masterbation I was going to need to do to get through this night.

I do these things for a reason. I was never sure at first what attracted me to them. I like the thought of being able to do something most in the world would never attempt and I like the fact that I can prove to myself that my body is strong and in shape. But I knew that after my first 100. Why do I keep doing them?

This may sound cliche, but running 100 miles is like living a life in just 24-27 hours. I know, I know: every sportsman says their sports also mimics life, but not in the same way.

The beginning of a race is much like the beginning of life. The first 18-20 miles is like being a child. One is full of energy, hope and great expectations. I may refuse to listen to reason and go all out because I feel so good (Piaget called this adolesent rebellion cognative conceit). Unfortunately, sometimes my bad choices in this stage lead to difficulty later (in the guise of suffering and pain).

Miles 20-40 is the time that things get kind of a transition. It is time to settle down and get serious. All the hopes and dreams that I had in the first 20 miles begin to settle into cold reality. Things hurt. Things are hard. And one needs to keep on track, bear down and put in work. When adulthood hits between 20 and 40 years, the realization that the partying of youth is over and the pain of reality sets in. It is time to work and forge a career. Things may not always be exciting and there will be pain. But the hard work will make things easier later.

And that’s where miles 41 through 60 come in. While running, a pace has been set. The right places to run and walk have been set. One’s body and mind are in sync and there is a peaceful feeling that flows. We have passed the half way point. We can look back at the hard work and discover that it might have been worth it.

As in life. The hard work has produced a career and, hopefully, a family. There is stability and an understanding as to where things are going. In other words, life has settled down. It may not be exciting. If fact, it may be boring. But that leads the way to a more comfortable life.
Miles 70 through 80 are a turning point. This is the time when one realizes that they may not be made for this. Things hurt physically. The mind is mush. Each step is pain and there is no strength left.

In life, things are not different (well, to my understanding). About this time, there is a realization that one’s body does not have the strength to do what it used to do. It is weak, the mind is a tad softer and one’s bowels and bladder lose control a bit more often. Like during a hundred mile run, these 10 can be tough to accept the weakness that comes with age compared to the strength that comes with youth.

Miles 80 through 90 are a time for realization and reflection. The end is in sight. One is used to the pain and works through it. It is also a time to look back, with a smile, at all the time and distance that was covered. The only thing left to do is survive and work through the end. And everything is work. Eating, drinkingĀ  and walking take effort. But now, there is a fight to move on. To finish strong.

Ages 80 through 90 I imagine won’t be different. I don’t know if I will be able to do the things I am doing right now. But,I know, I will look back at those accomplishments with pride. I know life is almost over. But that is not a bad thing. And, at this time, I would hope that my life would motivate me me to continue you on, knowing that I have more to see and experience.

Miles 91 through 100 are the best. I know I am going to get through it. I relish what I have done to this point. I cannot think or feel. All I see is the end. And I look forward to it. I embrace it.

I have not lived through half of what I wrote about, but most of my family are there already. They have told me what they are going through. And I think I understand. I have seen my grandparents and my great grandfather. I have seen their suffering and acceptance. I have also seen the twinkle in their eyes when talking about their lives. Though I can never know how they truly feel in death, I am confident that they were satisfied.

Of course, there are times when life does not go on. For some people, life is cut short. Those people do not achieve the expected completion. We have that in the 100 also. It’s called a DNF (Did Not Finish) and it is caused by some sort of failure. It could be mental (I’m not going to finish this the way I want), emotional (there is no way I am going to finish this) or physical (these blisters are killing me) or and combination of the three. Everyone DNFs. But I hate them. I have trouble accepting that it is normal. I feel incomplete and defeated. Much in the same way the death of someone who left us before his time.
So, why do I do it? At first I thought I did it because I wanted to compete. But I am not competitive. But I am not. I will never be a John Wog, Ed Ettinghausen or a Catra Corbett. But I am good with that. I told people I do it because I love it. And I do, sometimes. Other times, I am missrable, especially at the end. I do it because I always learn something about life and myself. That’s why I keep doing it. And always will.

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