I posted this as a message on the Internet ultramarathon list when I stopped running ultras. I’ve edited it for this book.
I’m including it because the story of the double marathon illustrates the three levels of energy – “dull,” “activating,” and “refined” – that a runner can express through the three “tools” of feeling, will, and mind. (See Chapter 3, “The Five Dimensions of Fitness.”) Low emotional energy (symbolized by water) is a muddy swamp, activating energy is a rushing mountain stream, and refined energy is a broad, powerful river. Low-energy will power (symbolized by fire) is a smoky, sputtering flame, activating will is a roaring forest fire, and refined will is a blowtorch or candle. Low mental energy (symbolized by air) is a muggy summer day in Mississippi, activating mental energy is a hurricane, and refined mental energy is a cool breeze on a beautiful spring day.
Notice how the “middle” stage – activating energy – is carries a risk of loss of control. In the race described here, I started with whiny low-grade feelings, which I over-corrected with boisterous outward emotion, then refined with inner discipline and reflection. It’s hard, if not impossible, to jump straight from low energy to refined energy. The middle step – activating energy – is necessary, even if we don’t have to express it outwardly – and behave like a jerk, as I did.
Here’s why I’m no longer running ultras.
Anything that gives us more in a deeply meaningful way, unlike the things that merely stack up on the outside of us, such as Lexus SUVs, Rolex watches, and automotive DVD theaters – unfailingly gives us a corresponding little extra shot of joy.
For seven years, ultramarathons gave me a venue where I could stretch my edges and experience “more.” For those seven years, ultrarunning gave me joy.
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!
-
Oliver Wendell Holmes, “Chambered Nautilus”
Each ultra race I entered was a laboratory. Before the start, I prayed to be able to nudge my edges, rise above my small whining self, and open my heart to others. And each time I conquered the ego and succeeded in finishing an ultra with an expanded heart, I experienced joy.
One good example was the Sierra Nevada Endurance Run, a double marathon (52.4 miles) with 4200’ of climbing. I had the flu the week before the race, and I felt crappy at the start. Toiling up a long hill behind Suzi Cope, the message on the back of her sweatshirt was an admonition – in block letters, it said: “Attitude!”
Thirty miles into the race, I arrived at an aid station that had run out of Coke. I raised a bit of a dickens, and the station helpers were not pleased. Out on the trail again, I resolved to behave better. At the next aid station, while filling my bottles I loudly thanked the helpers. Their response was muted – my protestations rang false even to my ears, because they didn’t come from my heart.
For the next seven miles, I meditated on my true feelings about the people who give up their Saturdays to serve at these races. When I entered the next aid station, I thanked the helpers quietly but with genuine sincerity. Really, I’m moved almost to tears when I remember how sweet it was.
Back out on the trail, I see-sawed with two runners, a man and a woman running together. Sciatic pain forced me to fast-hike, and the woman was also having a rough time. Just before we passed, I brought my attention inside and tried to tune in to the part of my heart where I felt sincere kindness. I prayed to be able to say what would help her, and I found the words spilling out, the right words – humorous, encouraging, friendly. I finished the race feeling wonderful.
I gave up running ultras when it became contractive for me. It was taking four or five days to recover from the six- and seven-hour training runs, and my low energy was causing friction with my girlfriend. I’m aware that there’s a class of ultrarunners with super-bodies who recover quickly, even after 100-mile races. But my body is the off-the-shelf variety. In my experience, the most contractive thing a runner can do is train and race to the point of chronic depletion – because it shrinks the heart.
When I gave up running ultras, I found new avenues for expansion, new ways to run that gave me joy because they opened my heart. I may still run an occasional ultra as a school fundraiser. But the kind of running I do has never been what counts. What I care about is whether it’s the most joyful thing I can do.
