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Six months ago, our dog Ginger couldn’t play for more than five minutes without getting winded and lying down for the rest of the day. Today, Ginger glides through 20-mile trail runs without a sign of fatigue. We can’t keep up.
I’m not a dog trainer. I’m an ultra runner currently training for my first 100-miler with a dog that loves trails. After searching for information on how to train my dog to follow me on my ultra-long runs, I found nothing. So I decided to become my own expert.
I started training Ginger the same way I train myself: back-to-back long runs, night running, trail running, elevation training, and hills. Below are the 20 steps I followed to transform Ginger from a couch dog to an ultra dog.
1. Assess your dog’s physical features.
We don’t know what Ginger’s breed is, so the dog articles that discussed breeds were useless. Ginger was adopted when she was just days old. She’s a mutt. Some people say she looks part Dalmatian or part German Shorthaired Pointer. We just say she’s Mexican (she was abandoned in Tijuana), and have no interest in learning her breed.
Ginger is physically built like a running dog. Her dog-care experts say she has the traits of a hunter. She’s quick, long, lean, and sharp. She’s an amazing sprinter, and her hair is short so she doesn’t overheat easily. Her size and shape compliment distance running.
If Ginger were smaller, or if she had thick fur, she might not have been able to run as long. Keep that in mind when establishing the limits of your own dog.
Not all breeds are physically built for efficient long-distance trail running. But then again, not all humans are training for ultras. So chances are there’s a happy medium where you and your dog can run together.
2. Establish an interest.
It’s easy to project our own interests onto the things or people we love. I love trail running, so my dog must love it too, right? Not necessarily. It’s important to make sure this is something your dog enjoys.
Does your dog like to run? Does your dog love trails? Much like humans, you’re not likely to convince someone to train for an ultra if they hate running. Dogs are usually great at showing us what they enjoy. Get their paws on a trail and see how they react.
Sometimes when we drive Ginger home from a trail, she doesn’t want to get out of the car. She thinks the next stop might be another trail.
Trail love
3. Start slow.
It takes time to train a dog. It took us six months to get Ginger in ultra shape, but it may take much longer. On a positive note, it takes a long time to train a human as well. So patience is important for you both.
Do not ever rush the process. Dogs want so badly to please their owners, and that’s a strong motivation for them. Don’t make your dog “push” to please you, or make them feel that they’ve failed you by not running far enough.
Your dog doesn’t need to be mentally pushed the same way that you do. Dog-hearts in it 100 percent and they always give their best. They’re not stressing over speed or goals or race fears. So if your dog is showing signs of wanting to stop, take it seriously.
4. Build a base with play-training.
Ginger loves chasing her ball, but six months ago she would get winded after five minutes. I started playing with Ginger until she got tired, then I would let her recover before playing again.
At first, it took Ginger half a day to recover and we’d only get in two or three play sessions. As time passed, her recovery times got much shorter. We play-trained for 30 to 60 minutes, two days a week until Ginger was able to play for one hour without stopping. Only then did I start to run with her.
5. Watch for cues.
Dogs are less complicated than humans. If they’re tired, they flop on the ground. If they’re thirsty, they drink. If they want to stop running, they will show cues. They may dawdle or just walk. Being receptive to their cues is crucial. Your dog knows what it needs.
My friend Cynthia recently started running with her dog. She knows when her dog Penny is ready for a rest when she stops often to pee:
For the past month, we have gone out about three to five times a week on this little 2K stroll and we do running pickups. Sometimes we do 2.5K depending on how she feels. If I see she is stopping often to do her business, I know it’s not a good day so we take it easy.
6. Start with short, local loops.
I started Ginger with a single run around the block, letting her rest when she got tired. When she recovered, we’d go back out. As time passed, her distances got longer (more loops, less recovery).
When we got to the point where she could run steady for an hour or more without getting tired, we started taking her out to the trails.
7. Keep track.
As silly as it sounds, Ginger has a Dailymile account where I track her mileage. This helps tremendously as far as knowing what she’s capable of and how far she’s come. It helps me determine what types of distances and conditions she’s ready for, and I note her mood and energy as well.
Every once in a while, tracking her progress also helps me call out and celebrate her milestones. We celebrated her highest elevation run. Her roughest terrain. We even note which wildlife she sees and how she responds.
I record Ginger’s mileage in “Ginger-speak,” typing about the run through her eyes. Here are some examples of her entries:
“I SEEN THE DEER AND I HUNT HIM. IMA WOLF.”
“I RUNNED FAST AND THEN I STOP TO PEE.”
“I SEEN A CAT I TRY TO EAT IT.”
“TIME TO GET SERIOUS ABOUT MY TRAININ….. SQUIRREL!!!!!!”
Ginger has had “Friends” add her and encourage her on her journey. I translate their messages by patting her head. You can add Ginger as a friend here.
All the benefits you get from tracking your own workouts apply to your dog as well. I strongly suggest keeping a log.
8. Open a line of communication.
The dog-master relationship is precious and your dog will often be bonded to you more strongly than what you imagine. Communicate with them about running, and you’ll be surprised at how much they actually understand and can share in your passion.
Tell your dog they’re going for a run. They’ll probably know exactly what you mean. This is my friend Cynthia’s experience:
I tell Penny the night before that we are going for a run in the morning and she knows what it means. Since (my husband) wakes up before me, she knows she still has some sleeping time until I wake up and we go.
When I get out of the bedroom, I ask her: ‘Are you ready for your run?’ and she gets so excited! Funny thing is she actually stretches before we leave. She does Downward Dog.
The book How to Talk to Your Animals describes how one dog owner started speaking English to his dog, and was shocked to find that his dog understood what he was saying.
“He speaks English!” he exclaimed to his wife. She looked at him in disgust, “Of course he speaks English! What’s he going to speak, German?!”
The author goes on to describe how many words dogs have been known to retain, and tells stories of dogs in Mexico who understand Spanish. According to this book, it’s easier for dogs to understand our language than for us to understand theirs.
Talk to your dog about running. This can keep you accountable as well. If you promised your dog a morning run the night before, you have to get up and do it.
9. Introduce trail running.
We started with a group trail run of 6 miles, then slowly incorporated other mid-week runs when we could no longer tire her out. Trail running adds a different dynamic to your dog’s experience, so it’s important to monitor this transition.
For Ginger, running in a group was a huge distraction. She hated to be in last place, and would often lunge forward to cut people off. It took some time for her to understand this was not acceptable.
There are also cyclists and wildlife to deal with. There’s a lot of stimulation for a dog. Take your time on this transition until your dog is comfortable with trails.
I found it helped Ginger to have some time off-leash (where possible) to sniff her new surroundings and explore a little. This prevented her from stopping dead in the middle of a single track trail to sniff some poop while tripping the person behind her.
We are still trying to perfect Ginger’s trail manners, especially when it comes to running with strangers and spotting other animals. She recently tried to take down an entire herd of deer by herself. Hunter, much? It’s an on-going process with her.
Some basic obedience training could go a long way here as far as following basic commands. Ginger is learning:
- “Slow down”
- “Stop”
- “Walking”
- “Come on”
- “Let’s go”
- “This way”
Ginger and I on the trails
10. Pick a side on pooping.
Ultra trail runners are well known for pooping on the side of the trail. In fact, I’ve heard people say that you’re not a true trail runner until you’ve pooped in the woods. I know that not all runners do this, but when you’re training to run 100 miles, any bush looks like a toilet.
The doggie bags I carry for Ginger are attached to her leash. On one trail run, it dawned on me: Why the hell and I shitting in the woods yet carefully carrying my dog’s poop around?? I picked a side: the Non-Doggie Bag Side.
Depending on your distance and your trails, you may pick the Doggie Bag Side. Maybe wood-pooping isn’t something you or your dog want to get into right now. It’s your call.
I always make sure Ginger goes off-trail and if she doesn’t, I’ll move it somewhere I’d poop myself, or slide it over the side of a cliff. She usually tries to bury it herself.
11. Train for danger.
Trail dangers include things like wildlife and rattlesnakes. We will be putting Ginger through a snake training class where she will learn to recognize and avoid snakes.
It’s best to do this at the beginning of the year, to coincide with rattlesnake season. It’s also best to refresh this training every once in a while. This is an important point to follow. One of our trail running friends lost her dog when it was bitten by a rattlesnake.
12. Make running fun, not work.
Dogs and humans both appreciate variety. On our shorter runs, I like to shake things up with Ginger. Sometimes we run “people pace”, and sometimes we run “Ginger pace”.
Ginger pace is where she gets a turn to lead. Instead of following me, I follow her. My pace is always steady and slow, but at Ginger pace we’re either running a mad dash, or stopping dead so she can sniff some pee-mail. This puts some fun into our routine, and keeps both of us engaged and smiling (yes, she smiles).
Does it get much more fun than this? Hellz no.
13. Leash wisely.
The leash that works well for road running with Ginger doesn’t work on trails. Most of the trails we’re running are single track, which means that if Ginger is leashed, she can’t run right beside me—she has be in front or behind. She needs a longer extension.
Also, technical trails can have sudden drops or rocks we have to scale. A shorter leash will start to choke her and severely limits her movement. If she has to leap off a rock and I’m still on it, a short leash is a disaster waiting to happen.
We have opted to let Ginger go off-leash as much as possible, and we often choose our trails based on their seclusion so she doesn’t bother anyone. Ginger is actually much better behaved and obedient when she’s off-leash than when I have her leashed.
If there’s a biker up ahead or another dog that might be aggressive, we’ll hold her until the threat has passed. If we spot other people on the trail, we’ll leash her until we pass them.
14. Trust your dog.
Letting your dog off-leash can be scary, but in some ways in comes down to trusting your dog. I knew that Ginger’s nature was very submissive, and she wasn’t one to run away. When we decided to trust her off-leash, we found that she became more protective of us and careful.
Instead of charging ahead like she tends to do on her leash, she would run close to the side of the person who was leading. Then she’d keep looking back to check that the other person wasn’t being left behind.
When we put enough distance between us that we could no longer see the next runner on the trails, Ginger would run back and forth to check on both runners. At one point, I stopped to take off my sweater and adjust my pack. Ginger sat beside me and nudged for me to catch up.
Last weekend Shacky hid behind a bush to see what she’d do if she lost one of us. She ran up and down the trail in search of him until he came out of hiding. She refused to leave him behind.
Miss Ginger checking over her shoulder for Shacky
15. Encourage hydration.
Your dog needs water just as much as you do. Encourage drinking at the end of every run and make it a routine. As your runs get longer, you should encourage your dog to drink mid-run.
We have Ginger drink every 6 to 8 miles, but some dogs may need to drink more frequently. When we’re on the trail, Ginger is great at drinking from creeks or streams when she needs it.
We keep an eye out for good water sources for Ginger and if there’s nothing appropriate, we pull out her collapsible doggie dish that hooks onto my own hydration pack. If we’re travelling long, she carries her own doggie pack with her own water dish.
Ginger has never gotten sick from stream or creek water, although if the water source doesn’t look clean, we give her water from our own hydration packs.
When we first started running trails, Ginger was so excited that it was difficult for her to settle down and drink. Now she is better at understanding when we want her to hydrate.
16. Do night runs.
Night (especially trail) running adds a different dimension. You may find that your dog behaves strangely under the moon. I have a small doggie light that I attach to Ginger’s collar when we run trails at night, more for my benefit than for hers. It doesn’t do much to light her way, but it ensures that I can spot her easily.
Running in the dark with a leash could take some practice as well. Your dog probably has better vision than you do, and it may take them some time to adjust to your more cautious form and speed. Humans should always wear headlamps.
17. Introduce elevation and hills.
This is the same process as introducing trails. Monitor the transition closely, and listen to your dog’s body (bet you never heard that one before). Stop if your dog needs to stop. Chances are your dog will probably adjust faster than you can.
18. Introduce higher mileage.
I used the same endurance-focused technique to build Ginger’s mileage. Speed didn’t matter, only time on her feet. When she got tired, we recovered and continued. We did this until she was comfortable running 20-mile distances without stopping.
19. Consider nutrition.
If you’re going to be on the trail long enough, your dog may need to eat. We are still experimenting with different foods for Ginger, but we try to give her some mix of carbs and protein. I have read of dogs eating anything and everything on a trail, from Cheezits to beef jerkey.
For the most part, we let Ginger tell us what she likes and doesn’t like. Interestingly, she loves pizza (hard to carry on a trail) but will also eat whatever we’re eating, from sandwiches to burritos.
On our last long run, I shared a bean and rice burrito with Ginger. At home, we feed her raw meat as well as high-quality, grain-free dog food. Sometimes Ginger’s diet is healthier than our own.
Mexicans love burritos.
20. Introduce back-to-back runs.
Back-to-back long runs were key for my own ultra training, so that’s where we headed with Ginger. Her recovery is impressive, and she has now caught up to my own training. We start to break down at about the same mileage, and we recover at around the same time. I’ve created the perfect running partner.
Immeasurable Benefits
1. BFF-status
Your dog can become your most loyal running buddy and bring out the fiercest loyalty in you. You’ll look out for each other and understand each other’s needs. I’ve passed up races because I didn’t want to put Ginger up in a doggie-hotel. Sometimes I’d rather bust out a long run with her.
2. Safety
Any run that I do with Ginger is safer. She’s not an aggressive dog, but I know that if danger calls, she’d step up and defend me. I also know that her mere presence is a deterrent.
I am never approached when Ginger is with me, whereas when I run alone I sometimes get comments, cars slowing down, or some lingering. Recently I was running in the dark with Ginger and I saw a man cross to the other side of the road to avoid us.
3. Fun and Enjoyment
Dogs know how to appreciate trails. They frolic. They sprint. They stand out over a lookout and gaze. Watching them teaches you to appreciate the trails. It reminds you where you are and why you’re here.
On roads, Ginger can be clumsy and careless (she once ran into a brick wall), but on the trails she moves with grace while I stumble along.
Here’s an exerpt from the book How to Talk to Your Animals, which outlines the similarities between wolves and dogs as far as movement and behavior in a natural setting:
In the woods I need not ask him to sit when we come to the top of the hill in view of the glorious Hudson. He glances at me, then the vista, sits down, and, like myself, gazes across the river valley. Only a few weeks ago we were on a new trail that opened up over a lake. Qimmiq lanced back at me, ran to the ridge, and sat down.
‘You’re right, it is beautiful,’ I said. He wagged is tail.
His wild kin, the wolves of Mount McKinley, dig their dens high on hills in view of gray-green valleys and snow-covered peaks. And they, like Qimmiq and me, sit and enjoy the magnificence.
At such moments the glance from either of us will say a volume, and the abyss between species is crossed from both sides.
If you’re thinking about getting a dog, please consider adoption
I cringe a little when people ask me how many layers they should wear in the winter. How the hell should I know how cold you feel??
I try to be helpful and polite and direct people to resources on Active like these great posts by Christian Peterson:
What to Bring on Your Winter Run
Your Guide to Winter Running Gear
I write and edit articles like this and I try to remember that when I was a newbie runner, I didn’t know a damn thing either. I’m also a huge consumer of running articles on topics that I have never experienced.
But ultimately, I didn’t start growing as a runner until I stopped listening and started doing. And neither will you.
So put down those running magazines and get your ass outdoors. Try a few layers. If you’re hot, learn something and do better next time. If you’re cold, learn something and do better next time.
Try everything. Run barefoot. Run in clunky shoes. Run in jammies. Run with your hair up. Run with your hair down. Run in the day. Run at night. Run without underwear. Run without a bra. Eat veggies. Eat meat. Eat junk food.
It doesn’t matter what you do, just try it differently. Become your own expert and don’t live within a plan that somebody else created.
This is not to bash the validity of training plans or expert tips. But every year I am more shocked by the ignorance of the questions that come through. Is there ANYTHING we do by ourselves anymore?
There’s a fear associated with going off on our own and trying something unusual, and that upsets me.
Don’t be afraid to switch up your diet. Or to run faster or slower or longer or shorter than what you’re “supposed to”.
There is no right or wrong. You’re not going to die at your next race. If you feel like crap or shit your pants, tweak your routine and learn from it.
I’m personally a knowledge-glutton. If I’m interested in a topic (like running), I want to read everything out there on that topic. But I also found that I was using research as a crutch for masking my fears:
Excuse: “I want to run an ultra, but I haven’t researched it enough…”
Truth: You’re just scared shitless to run an ultra. I’ve been there.
I recommend Jason Robillard’s recent post, Stop Letting Dumb-Ass Excuses Keep You From Your Dreams. It definitely inspired me.
So to practice what I’m preaching, I did something recently that I’ve been “researching” for a while:
I registered for my first 100-miler, Rocky Road. It’s only four weeks away.
I’m probably (ok, definitely) way over my head. I haven’t even raced a 50-miler (though I’ve run the distance at Across the Years).
I’m not 100% on nutrition or sleep or the mental strength it will take to pull past 80 miles. I haven’t read enough articles or asked enough questions. I don’t have any pacers.
Many could argue that I’m wasting my money. But goddammit, I’m registered.
Am I scared shitless? Hell ya.
Do I have what it takes? Who knows.
Will I learn something? Probably a thing or two…
Regrets? Ask me later.
But at least I’m not going to sit around asking how to wipe my own ass. I’m just gonna grab me some soft leaves and hope to God it’s not poison oak.
See you on the trails.
I have a soft spot for timed races. Usually when I tell someone I’m doing a timed race, they react with horror and surprise. I understand that running a one-mile loop for 6, 12, or 24 hours hardly sounds appealing. But I find comfort in it.
At a timed race, I don’t have to think. I can zone out, clear my mind, and just RUN. I experience running in a very raw state. I’m not worried about falling, hydration, or supplies. I’m only focused on the trail ahead. One foot in front of the other. Forever.
This race was my longest timed event yet. Across the Years is a 72, 48, or 24-hour race over a 1.05-mile loop in Arizona. We registered for the 24-hour event, starting at 9 a.m. on December 31st, through to New Years, and ending at 9 a.m. on January 1st.
I had no idea what to expect. The longest I had run before this was 50k, and the longest time I had ever spent running continuously was eight hours. I was a newbie.
I had it in the back of my mind that the best I could aim for was 100 miles, but I really had no idea how I would feel past the 50k, or how my body would respond with lack of sleep. I have never experienced sleep deprivation while running, and I knew that 100 miles was extremely ambitious. So I decided to just do my best, put zero pressure on myself, and have as much fun as possible.
We drove up a day early with my sister Elizabeth (attempting her first ultra), Carlos (attempted 100 miles) and Shacky (attempting a distance PR). We would also be seeing my uncle Pat and Jason Robillard with his awesome wife Shelly.
We stopped by the race on the 30th and I was immediately excited by the atmosphere. Watching the runner’s circle, I wanted to start running right away. It wasn’t long before we saw Jason, who was doing well and going strong. We also caught up with Pat and chatted with him for a bit before heading back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep.
The next morning we were at the race bright and early, eager and ready to run. I started the first few miles with Shacky, running comfortable and steady 10-minute miles. It was cold at the beginning, so I started in my sweater and jammies. When it warmed up I shed my layers. I was wearing the InknBurn cherry blossom set – my favorite outfit. I got a ton of comments on my InknBurn gear, and people wanted to know where they could buy some.
I found myself feeling thirsty as it started getting hotter, and I stopped to drink at almost every mile. Shacky was stopping every five miles to have some Thrive homemade, vegan pudding (a mixture of dates, bananas, cocoa, and coconut). Brendan Brazier eats this on his races. It tasted delicious and was very easy to digest.
At the 50k mark, I was feeling unbelievable. And I wanted to go faster. For my other events, I’ve always tried to pace myself in the beginning, just as runners are supposed to. But I’ve never been able to shake the feeling at the end that I had more in me (except at Los Pinos, which damn near killed me). I usually want to run further, and I always wonder whether I could have done it better or faster.
I’ve never been injured since I started running in 2007. Sometimes I wonder if I’m really fortunate, or if I’m not pushing myself hard enough. I have made great progress as a runner, but my body doesn’t seem to understand the high injury rate it’s supposed to suffer from. It refuses to break.
Another thing I’ve noticed at my past races is that no matter how well I pace myself, I seem to always hit a wall at the same TIME, as opposed to the same distance. So if I’m going super slow, I just end up with less miles logged before I feel exhausted. In any case, I thought that this would be a good opportunity to run faster. I sped up.
Running faster felt amazing. It actually felt easier to run faster than to run slow, which is probably because my “slow” muscles had already been working for over 6 hours. Activating new parts of my legs gave me that second wind.
I did a few sub-10 minute miles until Pat warned me that I was going too fast. I figured that when Pat tells you you’re going too fast, you probably really are. But still, I didn’t listen. I paused long enough to make a Facebook update stating that I might hit 100 miles after all.
Then at mile 45, out of nowhere, I hit a wall and I hit it hard. This was a wall I hadn’t felt since the end of my first marathon. It knocked me right out. Up until that point, I had been saving my motivational messages. Now I stumbled over to my folder and yanked all those papers out to read them all at once.
I was determined to keep moving, but it took me the same amount of time to run from mile 45 to 50 as it did to run the entire first 13 miles. I was half-walking and feeling miserable.
Meanwhile, Shacky was starting to feel an old injury act up, so he opted for a beer run with Jason instead. Pat was also suffering from a recurring shin splint, and wasn’t running anymore. I walked one painful loop with Pat before he decided to sit out. I kept plugging away, and by the time I was ready to run my 50th mile, Shacky and Jason and Pat were all sitting around drinking beer. I wanted so badly to join them.
Instead, I pulled Shacky away for one more lap, so he could run in my 50th mile with me. Then I sat down.
Until this point, I had remained vegan. I was eating fruit, tons of liquids, some vegetable soup, and PB&J sandwiches. I had also brought chips and nuts from home. But dinner at Across the Years was pizza. Cheesy and meaty pizza. They had volunteers standing on the course holding it out for runners to grab as they darted past, as if it were Gatorade. Every loop I made for at least 5 miles, I could smell it.
By the time I ran my 50th mile, all I could think of was pizza. And I was HUNGRY. Although I had brought tons of vegan snacks, I didn’t really think to bring any solid food for a real meal. And that’s what I was craving. A sit-down meal. No more aid station snacks.
I eyed the pizza and waited until there was only ONE slice left. Then I grabbed it. I wasn’t sorry, but I thought I should confess. So I went to sit over with the guys and let Pat make fun of me.
After my pizza break, I tried to keep walking laps. My legs were sore and the guys were just sitting around and chatting, making it really difficult to get back up and run alone. I really didn’t want to run anymore.
I managed to meet my sister as she was just about to complete 50k. I ran that last lap with her and took pictures. I remember when I first set my sister up with a Learn to Run program. She couldn’t even run for three minutes. Now look at her. She had a run a distance she could barely understand. I was so proud of her.
The ultra distance is an amazing thing. I told my sister: “No matter what has happened in your life before, or what will happen in your future, nobody can ever take that ultra away from you. When you’re an ultra runner, you’re a runner forever. You could go out the next day, join a gym and hire a personal trainer. And that trainer may not ever accomplish what you just did. You can flip through a magazine and pick out the most beautiful girl on those pages, and that girl’s body may never be as strong as yours. Her legs will never carry her this far. After an ultra, you are beyond beautiful. You are unbreakable.” She cried.
My sister would end up covering over 40 miles, logging over 100k during her entire stay with us over the holidays. She hadn’t trained for one single day for this. I surprised her with the flight to see us, and also with the entry to this race. Before this, she was running about five miles a week or less. But I knew she had an ultra in her. We have the same blood.
As a sat out watching the other runners, I was inspired by so many still fearlessly circling that loop. All different ages, different shapes, different goals. There were people who looked like they were 80 years old, and there was one 8-year-old boy who ended up with over 30 miles. Some people were slow, but consistent. One foot in front of the other. And they just never stopped.
I was amazed at the strength and resilience of the human spirit, and it seemed almost unfair to me that such strong souls should reside in weak bodies. Why can’t our bodies keep up with the resolve of our spirits?
Earlier on, Shacky and I met Sarah, a really pretty girl with long dreads. Sarah was running in minimalist Merrell shoes, so we stopped to ask her how long she had been running in them. She was embarrassed to say – only 12 miles.
It turned out that it was actually her husband and BRS member (username Abide) who had registered for this race, but he had become injured and could no longer run. She agreed to take his spot, even though she was only training for her first half marathon. She thought she’d take it easy, run a few laps, and see how she felt.
Sarah would take a break every so often to breastfeed her youngest child before jumping back on the course. She ended up with over 50k. Take that, half marathon.
In many of my motivational messages, people said I was an inspiration. But these are the people that inspire ME. I’ve done the training, planned the course, and eased into ultra running like an old man into a chilly pool. But these guys come up to a mountain they have never seen or imagined and look at it without the slightest fear. Then they say, “Meh… What the hell.” And dive right in.
I managed to stay awake until midnight, cheer in the New Year, and run one final lap with my Shacky, Jason and Pat. Then I crashed. I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and it was still dark. All I could hear outside was the patter of feet – people were still running.
I crawled out of my tent, slipped on my shoes, and ran in my jammies. It was 5 a.m. The runners on the course were few but faithful. They hadn’t just crawled out of their tents like I had. They had been there for the entire night.
The vibe in the air was tired and subdued. No one spoke. All you could hear was the shuffling of feet and slow breathing. Just one foot in front of the other. Forever.
A few hours before the end, I saw one runner hunched over shaking his head violently, as if he were trying to wake up from a bad dream. We made eye contact and he exclaimed, “I’m hallucinating! I’m seeing shit that’s not there!” He hadn’t slept for two nights.
At 7 a.m. I saw Shacky. He was also still running, and hit his distance PR at the same time I hit my 100k mark. Shacky could only get a couple of laps in at a time because of his injury, but he still pulled out his longest distance.
I really wanted a Starbucks after that, so Shacky drove me to one. By the time we drove back, it was less than an hour until the finish. Jason was out padding his miles, running at an impressive pace. We hung around to watch the end of the race, and I finished with 101k (63 miles).
In the end, several people had run this event so many times in previous years that this year they hit their 1000-mile marks for overall laps on the Across the Years course. Ed Ettinghausen, who had called it quits after the first day, pulled himself back together and ended up in second place. We saw him on his last few laps with his wife.
Yolanda Holder ended up walking for 48 Hours and hit 100 miles. Kimberly Miller also earned her 100-mile belt buckle. And one girl who looked just like Kate Kift looped me about a gazillion times. I never saw her face – only her back as she kept passing me. The back of her shirt said, “Don’t be a pussy.” So I pretended she was Kate, and smiled whenever she passed, nodding at the wisdom of her shirt.
This was an unbelievable event, very well run, and a perfect way to spend the end of the year. I’m really proud of my mileage. I think I had it in me to hit 100 miles, but I definitely needed more time.
I plan to try the 48-hour race next year, or even the 72. Meh… What the hell.
Here is my video recap:
Related Links:
Jason Robillard’s Across the Years Race Report
I hope everyone had a great Christmas!
Mine has been very satisfactory and relaxing. I’ve spent the holidays doing what I love: running and eating and reading.
Shacky got me a Kindle so I’ve had my nose stuck in it for the past few days. My sister is also here from Toronto, so we’ve been showing her some of our great San Diego trails and restaurants.
Tomorrow we’re all driving up to Arizona for Across the Years 24 Hour Race. Some of our friends are already there running for 72 hours.
I’m super excited about this race since it will be a distance PR for me, and I also know a lot of the participants. Among them, the Robillards, Ed Ettinghausen and Pat Sweeney. My sister Elizabeth also plans to run her first ultra here.
We start to race on December 31st at 9 a.m. and finish on January 1st at 9 a.m. We will take a break at midnight to pop some champagne and welcome a new year! I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate.
I’m posting today with a special request:
Please take the time to send the runners some motivational notes via Runner Mail HERE.
This race has a great Runner Mail service. You can visit THIS SITE, choose your runner’s name, and type up a motivational note for them. The notes will be delivered to your runner to help them remember that they have people cheering them on. You can do it right now and it will only take a couple of minutes.
Motivation is everything in long races like these, and it’s easy to feel alone. Please take a few minutes to remind someone that they have inspired you. If you don’t know any of the runners, pick a random name and send a note. It can make a huge difference.
You can also view the race through a live webcam HERE.
Thank you all for your kind support throughout this last year and enjoy these last few days of 2011! See you in the New Year!
On Sunday Shacky and I pulled into William R. Mason Regional Park at 7 a.m. and paid $30 to run for six hours. We didn’t have any distance goals but were there just to have fun.
After our recent Los Pinos experience we were looking forward to a race that was flat, fast and scenic. It was a run where we could chat with people, never be far from an aid station, and stop whenever we wanted.
I hadn’t run a flat course since moving here from Toronto. San Diego has so many hills, I wasn’t even sure there was a one-mile stretch in all of California that didn’t want to murder my quads. But apparently there is. And it is very pretty.
THE COURSE
This beautiful 1.09-mile loop reminded me of the picturesque Mind the Ducks 12 Hour race put on by race director Shelley Viggiano in New York. The concrete was soft, smooth, and well maintained. The loop encircled a pretty lake with busy ducks and other birds.
Children played at a nearby playground while older kids gathered by the pond’s edge to launch sailboats. Other than a couple of seniors out for a stroll, the path belonged to us runners
As lunchtime approached, some larger gatherings set up family BBQs and there was one birthday celebration. The vibe at the park was carefree and friendly. There was a lot to see, but also a lot of room to run.
The course itself was barefoot-friendly. There were no broken sections and only the odd pebble scattered on the pavement. My soles didn’t start feeling the mileage until after 20 miles of barefoot bliss. The path was flat except for one very small incline.
THE FIRST THREE HOURS
Time flew by. Shacky and I ran together for the first three miles and then he slipped ahead of me while I maintained my pace. It took at least three loops to warm up.
It was a cold morning and my fingers and toes felt numb. Most people were sharing my pace, so I was never running completely alone. I enjoyed listening to their conversations and chatted with some of them.
One thing I love about timed races is that you have the chance to meet and talk to people of all running levels. You may pass some and others may pass you, but sooner or later you’re bound to share a mile with someone you’ve never met and swap stories.
The second thing I love about timed races is that you never know who will come out on top. Some people start strong but don’t last long. Others start slow but never give up. I’m more like that second one.
I’m not a fast runner but I don’t always have an OFF switch. Once I get in a groove, I feel great running for hours. I wasn’t paying attention to how far others were going, but I did notice that after three hours a lot of runners had left.
THE LAST THREE HOURS
Shacky decided to stop after a little more than 20 miles, so I sat around with him for a bit and then walked a lap. We took pictures of the other runners, scouted out a nearby trail, crossed a bridge, and hit up the local playground.
There was a nice little outdoor gym setup that provided bars for people to do sit-ups, push-up, or chin-ups. We used all the bars and then did handstands.
Shortly afterwards I decided to keep running. Since so many runners had left and nobody was keeping my pace anymore, I busted out my iPod and continued to loop.
My body felt great and so did my legs, though I did miss the trails and hills. Every stride on the pavement was similar and it was easy for my feet to get bored. But I was running and that made me happy.
THE LAST TEN MILES
This is the point where everyone is looking exhausted and people are slowing down. In the last ten miles, anything can happen.
I didn’t know any of the runners still out there. Shacky had stopped and so had his ultra friend Rachel Boyd. The people I had chatted with had gone home, and the leaders were inching painfully along.
I wasn’t going fast, but I felt good. I felt like I had a lot left in my legs. And I actually felt thankful. Just so lucky to be out there on a beautiful day, pounding out some miles.
Back in Toronto, I used to train with loops. While loops seem boring to many, they’ve always brought me comfort and solace. Loops allow my mind to wander while my legs move fairly effortlessly on familiar terrain.
But back in Toronto I’d sometimes run loops with a sense of guilt. I knew that people were waiting for me to come home. That there were errands to take care of and chores to do.
I was limited by the distance and time I had reported before leaving. So if I felt like running more, I felt pressured to come back with an explanation.
But this felt liberating. Loops with no strings attached. A place I could run forever and nobody was waiting for me to finish. There was nobody tapping their fingers wondering when I would come by or waiting in the car to pick me up. I knew that when I crossed the aid station, Shacky would push me to run one more mile instead of wondering when I would finally call it a day. I felt lucky.
Pretty soon I was the only girl on the course. My mileage built up slowly, inching closer to Rachel’s, who was currently first girl but had stopped running. Now she was on the sidelines watching me.
There was a prize for first place but I didn’t know what it was, nor did I care. I never imagined I would be competing for anything. My prize was the freedom to run until I felt tired. And that was all I wanted.
Meanwhile, Shacky thought he’d keep himself entertained by playing on Rachel’s competitive spirit and tell her how I was going to run one more loop than her and steal first place. I was oblivious to his taunting back at the aid station, but on my 25th loop Shacky yelled, “One more lap and you tie Rachel!”
I smiled and continued. I just wasn’t tired yet.
THE RACE
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see Rachel pass me in a mad sprint, cursing Shacky. She was back out on the course to defend her place.
NOW we had a race.
I couldn’t help but cheer Rachel on. I knew she was coming back from an injury and wasn’t feeling her best. I was so proud of her for defending her lead. Rachel is a 100-miler and God knows if my legs had the wisdom of 100 miles I would never in a million years lie down for some Canadian 50K finisher.
I didn’t pick up my pace or try to race Rachel. But I loved watching her walk/run each loop (run when she knew I was looking) and felt so honored to be the fire under her ass.
I knew that if I stopped, Rachel could stop. And if Rachel stopped, I could catch up. And so we both looped. Over and over and over. Each one waiting out the other.
Time ran out before Rachel and I did. I ran my final lap with three minutes to spare for a final 50K distance. Rachel never let me catch her so I came in second girl – my most impressive ultra distance run. It was also a 50K PR for me.
Rachel ended up finishing just one lap away from first place overall. She came into this race thinking she’d be lucky to run 20 miles. And she almost took it all home.
After this, Rachel was left wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped running before I forced her back on the course. And I was left wondering how close I could have come to first girl if I hadn’t messed around doing handstands.
But after all, that is the beauty of ultra running. You’re always stronger than you think you are.
First place finishers Rachel (L) and Deo (R) with RD Sam (M)
Me and my medal
When I was a kid, my English teacher called me to the front of the class after some province-wide standardized testing to tell me that my writing skills had scored at a grade 12 level.
I was in seventh grade at the time.
That was the day I realized I was good at writing. I always knew that I liked it, but I didn’t know I was better at it than others. It was more than just practice or paying attention in class. I had a natural talent. I could see and express things in unique ways. I could inspire change.
That realization transformed my future. It defined my profession, the way I express myself, and who I am.
At Noble Canyon on Saturday I experienced a similar awakening.
THE ROUTE
Noble Canyon can basically be broken down into three parts:
- Starting at 5500 elevation and running down the side of a canyon to 3500 feet.
- Turning around and running back up the canyon.
- Climbing another long hill reaching 6000 feet of elevation, then looping back for the finish.
To put this into perspective, you are basically spending 5+ hours running uphill. Sometimes much longer. The terrain is: Rocks. Everywhere. When people say a trail is “technical,” it is usually about 95% LESS rocky than Noble Canyon. It’s almost impossible to even walk it barefoot because there is no space for a clean footprint.
Early into the race I watched the guy in front of me take two full out face plants within 20 minutes of each other. The second place finisher crossed with huge gashes on his knees from possibly several falls. I stumbled about five times, but was lucky enough to fall only once. A classic gravel slide. Footing is no joke here.
Both Shacky and I ran this race on a Sport Kilt sponsorship, a company we both love. I wanted to show that Sport Kilts weren’t just costumes for short, fun runs. They could be serious, functional gear for ultra running. And cute as hell.
RUNNING DOWN THE SIDE OF THE CANYON
No matter what distance I run, the hardest part is always the first 3 miles. It’s also the only point where I significantly feel the elevation. I’m breathing hard and my legs feel heavy, like they’re hard to lift. Sometimes I stumble. On this route I even felt sleepy-tired. Like I could have just closed my eyes and passed out.
Combine this with the fact that it was freezing cold at the race start. My legs and hands and fingers were numb. I was literally shaking and my stride was stiff. I couldn’t get warmed up.
It was demoralizing to think about distance at this point. I had just started and already felt shitty. So I focused all my attention on just getting through the first 3 miles and warming up.
I have never raced a single track trail before, so it was a little weird. I’m used to big road race mobs. I’m good at weaving through crowds and pushing ahead, but with single track you can’t do that. There’s really no place to go at all. It was making me feel restrained.
I hated the feeling of someone right behind me, breathing down my neck. I felt like a hunted rabbit and I wanted my space. I also assumed that everyone was faster than me and should therefore pass. So I ended up stepping to the side a lot and letting people go through, hoping I could get some running room. But it didn’t work out that way – there were people everywhere. When I finally stopped letting others pass, I got stuck behind them all the way down the canyon.
At the beginning I was shy about asking people to let me by. But finally I had to. On my training runs I was able to work up a good momentum and fly down the side of the canyon. It was my favorite part of the route. My leg-jitterbugging skills have really developed, and I can bounce down that canyon fairly easily. But I couldn’t pull that off on race day. There were too many runners taking it slow on the downhill, watching their footing carefully. I just couldn’t slip by.
AID STATION #1 – THE BIG TREE
The first aid station arrived before I needed anything. I still walked through and eyed the food, wondering whether I should eat something anyway. The guy I had been following collapsed on a chair, but Jeff was in front of him and didn’t even stop. I had been trading places with Jeff all the way down the canyon, and I didn’t really want to lose sight of him this early.
“What can I get you?” Some guy startled me by asking. I didn’t know anything about trail race aid stations at the time, so I thought he was weird for asking.
“Um.. no. I think I’m ok.”
I took off after Jeff.
BOTTOM OF THE CANYON AND AID STATION #2
By the time I got to the bottom of the hill (just a bit ahead of Jeff), I felt like I hadn’t even started running yet. Getting stuck behind so many people coming down had me anxious to shake them off and run at my own steady, uninterrupted pace.
There was an aid station at the bottom of the canyon. It didn’t feel like I had been running long and I still didn’t need anything, but I figured I should stop and refill my hydration pack before heading back up.
I’ve never been to an aid station that wasn’t at a Toronto road race, so I’m not aid station expert. But this is what I’m used to: stations run by high school students who play and flirt with each other until you beg them to refill your bottle with something.
But walking into this aid station, I was immediately cornered.
“Can I get you anything?” some smiley dude asked.
“Uh…. no thanks.” What was he asking that for? Was he trying to flirt with me? What a weirdo.
I walked to the food table to look around. A few seconds later, a girl was clawing at my hydration pack trying to make me tell her how to fill it.
“Water? Gatorade? Ice??”
I finally surrendered my pack and thanked her. I walked to the sponges and started soaking the back of my neck with ice water.
All of a sudden, the sponge was no longer in my hand. But the water was still coming down. The smiley dude had snatched it away and was soaking me. Then he asked me if I wanted my head or back soaked. WTF was going on??
So this is how trail aid stations work: You’re not allowed to do anything. People will follow you around and stop you if you try. It’s service you’ve never seen before. They’ll hand you food. They’ll refill your bottles. They’ll soak your head. They’ll tell you you’re awesome and send you on your way.
BACK UP THE CANYON
While I was trying to figure out why everyone was being so nice, Jeff took off ahead of me back up the canyon. When I was ready I ran out quickly, still hoping for some uninhibited running. I wasn’t surrounded by people this time. I had some breathing room and I was happy.
At all my training runs, the hike back up the canyon has always killed me out. But today I felt great. I was running uphill.
The cool part about coming back up is that you get to see the people behind you. I saw Julius and Ngoc, which was a shock because I assumed they were way in front of me. I also saw Regina and said hi, but she didn’t reply. She looked like she was ready to strangle someone with her bare hands. (At the finish line, she would later have the worst case of Runner’s High I’ve ever seen – chatting and laughing and snapping pictures.)
Sarah, another strong runner, had left the aid station after me and soon caught up. She had kicked my ass at every training run, so I knew she was awesome. I let her pass. After a while I caught up to her again but stayed behind. I figured it would be pointless to pass her since she would surely smoke me. But my legs were itching and I finally passed her, almost apologetically.
I felt weird passing people. Almost like I had no right to. Who did I think I was? These guys were strong. They had lived and trained here longer than I had. I was just a silly Canadian girl in pigtails who knew nothing about running up a canyon. But I never saw Sarah again.
I also slipped past Jeff, and tried to build some distance between us. I imagined that both him and Sarah were right on my ass, and that kept me moving for the next 3 miles or so.
After that I started to pull out some mantras. I felt like walking, but I knew I didn’t really need to. I remembered something my dad had told me a really long time ago:
“It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish.”
I repeated this to myself a few times. I had started strong, and I wanted to finish strong.
Sometimes the terrain got so bad that I had to walk, but I made a point to walk fast. And never for any longer than I absolutely had to. I was still feeling good.
I was mostly running on my own on the way up, and I embraced the solitude. It felt like it was just me on the canyon. It felt right. Every once in a while I’d catch up to someone and run behind them for a bit. Then when my restlessness had build up enough, I’d shyly pass.
AID STATION #3 – THE BIG TREE AGAIN
Rachel was the one who attacked me with happy service at this aid station. I had never met her, but knew who she was of course. So I introduced myself and chatted with her a bit while snacking on a sandwich.
Rachel Spatz completed an Ironman when she was something like 17, and ran a 100 miler when she was around 19. She’s like a walking goddess. Just being around her is inspiring. I took off from her aid station in great spirits.
Rachel had told me that Shacky wasn’t far ahead, and he was walking. So I had a new goal: catching up to Shacky. I ran until I caught sight of a cheering section up ahead. It was Theresa and team holding Carlos’ signs, which were hilarious. They told me Shacky was JUST up ahead!
Here’s the sign Carlos made for Shacky:
AID STATION #4 – PENNY PINES
Shortly after the signs and the cheering, there was another aid stations. I did another ice water sponge soak and grabbed a potato. I didn’t hang out at this station much – I had to run Shacky down. Coming up out the station, a few more people were cheering near the parking lot. One lady looked at me and let out a loud gasp. Then she exclaimed to the lady next to her, “OMG! She looks like she just started!”
That made my day.
THE LAST UPHILL
I ran strong for the next couple of miles, and then I hit my wall. The climb wasn’t steep, but it was a gradual incline that felt like it would never end. The trail was open and fully exposed to the sun. It was really rocky. I started to walk.
I’m not a fast walker, so every once in a while I would try to run again. But it was like my body refused to respond to me. My quads were tight, and I was starting to cramp up. Frustrated, I thought of something my friend Ngoc reminded me of before the race – Caballo Blanco’s wise words from Born to Run:
“Think Easy, Light, Smooth, and Fast. You start with easy, because if that’s all you get, that’s not so bad. Then work on light. Make it effortless, like you don’t give a shit how high the hill is or how far you’ve got to go. When you’ve practiced that so long that you forget you’re practicing, you work on making it smooooooth. You won’t have to worry about the last one—you get those three, and you’ll be fast.”
I definitely couldn’t handle fast, so I decided to just focus on Easy. At the same time, I remembered Daniel Howell’s mantra, which he talked about on his interview with Caity on Run Barefoot Girl. He said, “I run today so that I can run tomorrow.”
To me, this means not killing yourself after every race. It means doing what Caballo said – running easy. So I stopped to stretch and sit down. I hoped that would loosen me up so I could run again. A couple of people passed me during my stretching, but I figured that time would be made up if I could actually start running again.
And it worked. After a couple minutes, I was moving. And I ended up passing the people that had slipped by.
Finally, I hit 6000 feet of elevation and it was downhill from there. It felt like a deep sigh of relief for my legs and all of a sudden I could pick up the pace. I got my second wind. The world felt right and the day was beautiful. I was in my element.
AID STATION #5 – THE RAT HOLE
“Vanessa Runs! Vanessa Runs!”
Someone was calling from the last aid station. I ran in, refilled my bladder, and ate a bunch of random things. They told me that Shacky had JUST left and he had spent a long time at this station. I was only there for what felt like 2 minutes before they were kicking me out. “You’ve been here too long!” So off I went.
I knew I had to step it up if I was ever going to catch Shacky, so I ran. And it felt good. Then I realized that I had been doing two things for most of the race:
When I caught up to people on the trail, I would size them up. If they looked fitter than me in any way (ie. Everyone), I wouldn’t pass them. I’d tag behind and assume they were better runners than me.
I had been walking some inclines, not because I felt I really needed to, but because the people in front of me were walking them. And I didn’t feel I was good enough to pass them.
Then it dawned on me: OMG. I have low Runner’s Esteem.
I thought about one runner I saw hunched over on the side of the road earlier. Then I thought about a lady I saw crying after a fall. I thought about all the falls and the wipe-outs I had seen and all the people running behind me.
Then it hit me: I think I’m better at this than I realize.
It was more than just having a good day or good running weather. I think this comes easier for me. And I love doing it. It just fits. Like writing.
When I’m running on a trail, nothing feels foreign. I feel like I belong there. Like my body was built to move this way. I can’t help smiling and I can’t help feeling at home. Different people have different talents, so I don’t think I’m particularly special. But I think that ultra distance trail running just might be my “thing”. Something I could potentially develop. Something a little bit bigger than me.
Nobody else passed me after that. I ran strong and I sped up when I saw the finish line. I crossed it with a big grin. I never caught Shacky, but someday I will. With enough time and distance, I think I can run anything down.
CONCLUDING THOUGHTS
Back in May I ran a 60k mileage at my first timed race and raced a marathon the next day. After that I felt like I could do anything. It gave me the courage to pursue a life I really wanted.
But this race did something else. This race made me FEEL like an ultra distance trail runner. It gave me the courage to pass people. It gave me a place on these trails. At the finish line, I could stand in the company of some amazing athletes and not feel like that silly little Canadian girl. This was my world now. And I am an ultra runner.
Official finish time: 7:07
This Saturday I’ll be running Noble Canyon!
I’ve only done a timed ultra, so this will be my first real ultra distance trail race. I’m super excited because this is my favorite type of race – long, challenging trails. I’m going into it without any expectations. I’m just going to enjoy the day, have fun, and take in the experience.
I hope I make the cut-off, but I sincerely have no idea if I will. The last couple of training runs I’ve basically had to walk the entire way up the mountain. So I’d love to at least get a little more running in.
I think it’s cool that this is the first race where I know so many of the people running or crewing or volunteering. In Toronto I always experienced races alone – starting and finishing alone, no one I knew cheering, and no one I knew running. Racing was fun THEN, so I can only imagine how much better it will be now. The ultra running community is completely different than road racing, and I’m enjoying the shift.
I had a little mishap on my run at Torrey Pines yesterday. I got a little overconfident running down the side of the canyon and I was going much faster than usual. I stepped on a rock with what I thought was a steady step, but my foot shifted off of it and slid down to the ground. I didn’t fall or miss a step – I didn’t actually feel any pain at all. I just kept running. But Shacky said it sounded bad, and about 40 strides later it started to sting. So I took a look.
I had sliced off a bit of my sole, so my skin was flapping and the wound was filling with sand. It wasn’t a big cut, but it was deep. I ran to the beach and soaked in salt water to clean it out. Then I borrowed Shacky’s shoes and finished up the run. I was hobbling a little, but it was much easier to run than to walk. I actually ran faster because it was getting dark and the faster I ran, the less time I would spend putting pressure on my wound.
When I got home I washed it up again, put on some socks, and went to bed. In the morning my skin had started to re-attach. I used some Neosporin, and it looks like it’s going to be ok. I’ll probably still bandage my foot for Noble, just in case.
I’m trying to come up with things to think about to stay motivated during this run. I feel like it’s going to be a mind game much more so than a physical feat. I know I have the strength in me to finish strong, but it’s just soooo easy to walk!
I’ve been inspired lately by Shelly, who just finished a 50-miler, and we’ll be running our first 100 miler together soon! So I’m sure I’ll think about her.
I’ve read on a couple of blogs about how people decide to dedicate a mile of their long races to people who have inspired or helped them, and I thought about doing that. If I do, here are some people I admire that I would definitely include:
- Shacky – cause he’s always there for everything
- my birth mom – cause I miss her
- Eli – cause she’s the bravest lady I know
- Emma – cause I love her and miss her
- Angie – cause she’s a supermama and strong lady
- Shelly – cause she kicked ass at her last race
- Jason – cause he writes the stuff that needs to be said and finished Western States in under 24 hrs
- Pat – cause he’s my cool record-breaking uncle
- Kate – cause she’s a cute little runner and climber who never gives up
- Cat – cause everything about her inspires me
- Caity – cause her podcast is the awesomest podcast in the universe
- Krista – cause she’s got ninja moves
- Christian – cause he taught me how to get everything for free
- Michael – cause he suggested a long time ago that I try running barefoot…
- Robin – cause she’s my fellow badass Canadian ultra runner
- Carlos – cause he makes me laugh and he pushes some impressive speed/mileage
- Jeff – cause he always gets back up when he falls
- Theresa – cause she’s insanely supportive
- Christine B – cause she’s a super strong lady and great runner
- Nadia – cause she’s always trying new things to stay active
- Nate – cause he’s not afraid to be himself
I don’t really have any other ideas as far as motivation, so I think I’m just going to go into it and see what happens.
Wish me luck!
I only just now read Born to Run.
I have known for a long time that this was the runner’s Bible, particularly barefoot runners. I knew what a big deal it was. I knew how many people it had inspired. And I knew that all my friends had read it. Yet I still hung back.
I got Born to Run when it first came out and everyone was reading it. I watched the hype and all the book tours. But I let it sit on my shelf. For weeks. Months. Until the hype was mostly over. Until people stopped talking about it. And everyone assumed that I had read it.
I have an interesting relationship with books. Books were my best friends all through childhood and adolescence. They’re what got me through life.
My dad used to always refer to his books as real people, and it was always clear to me that he loved his books more than he loved me. I wasn’t to ever harm any of his books. If a spine was bent, or if a cover was creased, I would have to face his consequences.
My dad’s approach to reading was extreme, but it did engrave in me a profound respect for books. I approach a book now with near-reverence.
I can read fast, but at the same time I read slow because I stop a lot. I read until I get a thought and then I stop to really think about it. Then I act on it. And I don’t come back to continue reading until I’ve done what I need to do. Until I’ve applied what I’ve learned.
I knew that Born to Run would take me a long time to read. I knew, deep inside, that it would somehow change my life. And I wasn’t ready for change when I bought it. So I let it sit.
I knew that I would love this book, because I love running. But I wanted to love running on my own terms. I wanted to tackle my first ultra before cracking the cover. I wanted to explore barefoot and minimalist running before turning any pages.
So much of my knowledge is book knowledge. But running is one of the few things that I can truly experience. I didn’t want to read about it. I just wanted to run.
I also didn’t want to be carried away by a fad. A quick barefoot run, and then back to normal life. I didn’t want anyone to say that I came to love ultras because of Born to Run. Or that I tried barefoot running because of this book. I wanted to love ultras on my own terms. And run barefoot for the sheer joy of it.
So I did.
I ran my first ultra and fell in love with the 50k+ distance all on my own. I took off my shoes and never put them on again, all by myself. I didn’t want to know the stats or the proof or the studies. I just wanted to know that it was right for me because it FELT right. I wanted to know, based on feel, that I could never run any other way.
Last month I finally picked up Born to Run. The time was right. And last night I finally finished it.
It was like watching the first movie of a series, when that movie was the last to come out. You already knew the ending. But you didn’t know the beginning. And suddenly everything makes sense.
Born to Run was exactly like that for me. I already knew that I loved ultras and I always would. I knew that running barefoot would always work for me. But I didn’t know why.
I’m not a better runner because of Born to Run. It’s not going to make me any faster or make me push any further. But I do feel wiser. I feel like I’m on the right track. And I feel that just because people don’t get what I do, doesn’t mean that it’s wrong.
I think this book strengthened my resolve to fully embrace who I am and what I love. I recently confided to a friend: “I can’t shake the feeling that my whole life is supposed to be about running. It’s the only thing that consumes me.”
I used to try to explain myself to others. I felt that I had to justify my passions. Why do I run barefoot? Why do I run so much? Why do I make running a priority?
But I’m done with that.
This book showed me the why behind a lot of these questions, but it also showed me something more important: That I don’t need to explain it. I can just know it. And I can just run.
To me, Born to Run will always conjure up the image of Caballo Blanco cutting through dips and turns and crevices too dangerous to speak of. A mere shadow slipping through spaces so narrow with drops so steep that it’s senseless. Life and death all hanging on a long run. And I want that. I have for a long time.
These aren’t risks that anyone can explain. According to the voices of reason, this is not what I’m supposed to want. Who wants to get lost? Who wants to get exhausted? Who wants to fall down?
I’m supposed to want to stay where it’s safe. To compromise my dreams of wilderness and wanderings, and while I’m at it – to put on some god damn shoes.
Except that I can’t. And I fear that the day I loosen the grip on my passions is the day someone pries them from my cold dead fingers.
They should look for me at the bottom of a canyon.
I’m running a guest post today by freelance writer Maria Rainier about the 3,100 Mile Self-Trascendance run. That’s right, folks: 3, 100 miles.
I love reading about races like this because it’s a testament to the reslience of the human body. It makes me excited to own such a remarkable dwelling, potentially capable of some incredible things.
I’ll let Maria tell you the rest.
SRI CHINMOY AND 3100 MILES OF SELF-TRANSCENDENCE
by Maria Rainier
Ask your average Jane and Joe if they can run 3,100 miles in the steaming heat of summer and they might go to the trouble of walking across the room to slap that innocent look off your face. They haven’t even heard that they would be given only 51 days to complete the 3,100 miles—approximately 60.78 miles (or 97.82 km) a day.
Nevertheless, since spiritual teacher Sri Chinmoy created the Self-Transcendence 3100-Mile Race in the mid-1990s, a small group of runners have gathered annually to smash their self-imposed limitations beneath their heels. In his mind, sports supplied the body and mind with fitness and joy but also expressed his philosophy of self-transcendence, or expanding the consciousness to conquer perceived limitations.
SRI CHINMOY: ATHLETE AND TEACHER
Accusations of misconduct aside, Sri Chinmoy walked the walk in the athletic community. Once a formidable competitor himself, he completed 22 marathons, 5 ultramarathons, and participated in track-and-field events in Masters Games. These include the 1983 World Masters Games in Puerto Rico and the 1993 World Veterans Games in Miyazaki, Japan.
When an injury put a stop to his running career, Sri Chinmoy turned to weights, purportedly lifting 800 lbs with only his right arm less than two months prior to his death in October 2007.
ATHLETICISM AND THE SPIRIT
Runners turn up for the Self-Transcendence 3100-Mile Race in his memory every year, although the list of participants is, as one might imagine, quite short. Ladies’ record-holder Suprabha Beckjord—who completed the 5,649 laps of an extended city block in Jamaica-Queens in 49 days, 14:30:54—is the only participant to have completed every edition of the race. The course record belongs to Wolfgang Schwerk in 41 days, 8:16:29. Asprihanal Aalto has won the most of these races (six out of his nine starts). These athletes and those unnamed tap into the body and mind’s inner reserves of energy and power, doing what even they might on some days believe impossible.
One of his students, Ashrita Furman, today holds 100 Guinness world records and attributes them his Guru’s philosophy. “I am not a natural athlete, but Sri Chinmoy has shown me that if one can be in touch with one’s inner spirit, anything is possible.”
Maria Rainier is a freelance writer and blog junkie. She is currently a resident blogger at First in Education where she’s been writing about online physical education programs along with computer hardware engineering jobs. In her spare time, she enjoys yoga, playing piano, and working with origami.
“When you finish your first ultra you are transformed from a weak person to a powerful one. There is nothing in life that feels insurmountable any longer, not once you’ve willingly wrestled with demons that big. When you know what you are capable of, you can take charge of your life. That’s what running ultras did for me, and this is how I choose to repay my debt.”
- Shelley Viggiano, MTD Race Director
There is one book from my high school reading list that has stuck with me all these years. It is Fay Weldon’s The Life and Loves of a She-Devil. It’s an easy fictional read about an unhappy, oppressed housewife who embarks on a mission of revenge against her cheating husband, his mistress, and society in general.
This character’s meticulous and obsessive plans transform her from a large, strong, dark woman into a petite, delicate blonde. She essentially turns herself into her husband’s mistress, becomes the object of his affection, and thus extracts her shocking revenge.
It was an unlikely book for me to attach myself to. I was an obsessive reader in high school, but was never much into fiction. This was the only fiction book I kept around and read over and over again.
I identified closely with the main character. I also felt ugly, fat, and powerless. My father was extremely protective, so I felt oppressed. I wasn’t allowed friends or sleepovers or dances. I missed my prom and wasn’t allowed to wear shorts or skirts that cut above my knees. I was nice and smart, but awkward and friendless.
The transformation of Weldon’s character caught my attention. And I wondered if someday I might also live a different life. If I would ever be glamorous or pretty or happy.
Every time I read this book, I have a different perspective of it. At first I started by sympathizing with the main character, cheering her on and identifying with her frustrations. Then I became angrier in my youth and enjoyed it more as a story of revenge. I wished that the people in my life could also be punished, and wondered what I might do to them.
Now I’m reading it again as an ultra runner, and it seems silly. Like a lot of drama over nothing. Whereas before I never questioned why this character would want to physically transform into something more petite, I now cringe at the thought.
Her legs, once strong and long and muscular, withered into bony white sticks. I feel that she could have been a runner instead. Her darker skin would have allowed her more natural protection for longer runs in the sun. But she wanted to be fair. In the book, she shortens her height, thus killing what would have been an impressive stride. Her body was powerful and then she was helpless. She was strong and in the end she was weak.
I like Shelley’s quote at the top of this post because it explains that ultra running changes the way you think about yourself. In other words, it tweaks your self-esteem.
I suspect that the ultra experience is different for women. We are always so down on ourselves because of our bodies. We’re never happy. But ultra training challenges our concept of self.
I was told once that I’d never be a runner because I’d never have a runner’s body. It was the opinion of someone I respected, so I really believed them. Today, I still don’t have a runner’s body. Yet I know I’m a runner.
My thighs are thick and my hips are larger than most distance runners. My bum is rounder, and the more miles I run, the rounder it gets. It’s not going anywhere. I’m more short than tall. More packed than lean.
My training has made my lower body more muscular and defined, but not smaller. My calves and quads are hard, but not skinny. My boobs won’t shrink much either.
I don’t know what it’s like to run with less weight, but I know that I ran 102km last weekend with a big fat smile on my face and no injuries. So whatever my body is doing, it’s something efficient.
The truth is, if you are a woman and you have completed an ultra marathon, or even a marathon, you are in a very small, elite percentage of the general population. Your body has accomplished something athletic. It has done something extraordinary. So to turn around and criticize it for every dimple or pocket of fat is almost like being saved from a burning plane by a superhero only to tell him his cape doesn’t match his socks. Really… nobody cares about that.
Running has taught me to love my body. It does what I want it to, so in return I must lavish it with love and appreciation. Maybe I don’t always take the best race photos. But every angle and curve and dimension – I suspect they serve a purpose.
After all, I just ran an ultra. So all the moving parts must work well together.
And I feel beautiful.
