This is a reflective "what have I learned post."
tl;dr: The friends I made in running are much more meaningful to me than running itself, and I'm extremely grateful to them.
|December 10, 2006|
This is the only photo I have of my first marathon finish
Ten years ago today, in Las Vegas, on December 10th, 2006, I ran my first traditional-distance marathon. You can read my report
if you're interested in my mentality at the time. It's fascinating to me.
|2007 Philadelphia Marathon|
The following year, in 2007, I would run three more marathons. In 2008, I ran my first ultra (a 50k), followed by a 50 miler. That was the year I ran the Chicago Marathon. By 2009 I was attempting 100 milers. In 2010, I finally finished 100+ miles in a single event - in a 72 hour fixed time race where I hit 100 somewhere north of 60 hours. It wasn't until 2012 when I finished a fixed-distance 100-mile race under the 30-hour cutoff.
|Tammy and I at Umstead 100, 2012|
I tend not to run normal marathons anymore. In fact I haven't run one since 2013. Marathons aren't challenging - or, I should say - I don't run marathons in a challenging way. Marathons, run properly, are actually the hardest race there is; which is why I don't do them.
|That time in 2008 I drove to Chicago to run a marathon with Rizzo - then drove home that night.|
Instead, I run ultras. And, for the last few years, almost exclusively 100 milers or 24-72 hour fixed time races. They're social events for me, which leads me to the point of this post. But I'll preface my monologue it by saying I used to take racing much more seriously. I was frightened of DNFs, and had the typical pre-race anxiety that most runners get before a big race. These days, DNFs are rare, and though I still approach 100-milers with nervous anticipation, my anxiety comes from elsewhere in life. And while there's no shortage of the anxiety I feel from non-running activities; it's a topic for another time. (Preferably in person, with adult beverages in front of us.)
|Anne, Ami, and Joey on my 40-mile 40th birthday run earlier this year|
I am going to tell a tale here of two runners, and will refer to my first runner as the "real" runner. Someone in a podcast that I love calls this person "the douchebag runner", which is not meant pejoratively but rather in jest. I think it's funny; laugh every time I hear it, but I'm not going to use it. If you're this person, you're not a douchebag to me. I'm going to give you the respect you deserve and call you a "real" runner.
("but some of my best friends are douchebags..")
I won't go into too much detail in describing the real runner, because you already know him or her. The real runner is interested in being the best runner they can be, and they're going to put in the hard work to be it. Real runners are admirable. Real runners do track work, tempo workouts, and hill repeats. Real runners count their calories, figure out which macronutrients to eat, measure their VO2 max, know their lactate threshold, are aware of exactly which heart rate zone they should be in at all times, and carefully plan and select the races they run. In most ways, real runners are better than me. A large part of me envies real runners. I wish I had their discipline and dedication. If I was a real runner, I'd probably be thin. And their fast finish times wouldn't be bad either.
|Me pretending to be a real runner at the 2014 Wharton 5K - I ran 23:56|
But, alas, I am not a real runner. I am the second persona: the social runner.
|Stopping to shoot a selfie with the kids mid-race|
Point of clarification: before I go any further I must say that the two archetypes are not mutually exclusive. Real runners in fact tend to be quite social. And social runners almost always do care about finish times and will push for a good time in a race. But any experienced runner will tell you that almost everyone has a prevailing mentality, and for the purposes of this post I'm going to assume a clear distinction for convenience's sake.
|Melissa and Ami are two of my favorite people in the world, and I deeply value their friendship|
Most people who begin running as adults start out thinking they should be real runners. I was a real runner when I ran that marathon in 2006, despite my nearly-7 hour finishing time. They obviously don't call themselves real runners; they just think they're normal runners (and, to be sure, they are.) Some people stay real for the rest of their lives. Many people burn out and quit running altogether. But a lot of us, and I fit this pattern, transition from real runners to social runners.
|That time I ran a beer mile in a blizzard with Jen|
It starts out innocently enough. You make some running friends. Maybe they're online, maybe they're at work, maybe you met them at a race. These friends become training partners. And you get to know them, their families, their jobs, their interests and hobbies. Soon, you're doing long runs with them. Or you're entering long races with them. If you run with them enough, you'll learn their secrets, their fears, their anxieties. And these people who you've gotten to know deeply: you're now suffering with them. In 100 milers it's particularly poignant - you'll find yourself suffering with someone at 3am on the side of a road. You keep each other going, feeding off the other's energy.
|RJ and I, 4AM, mile 87.5|
And without realizing it, you've long since stopped caring about your VO2 max. All you give a shit about anymore are the friends you've made. You care about them far more than you care about any stupid race. And they care for you. They care about you, and listen to you in a way only a true friend can. And the value in suffering together with a friend far outweighs the value in finishing in a certain time. You'll find yourself seeking out longer and harder events - because more intense and time spent suffering with them leads to deeper and more meaningful friendships.
|Fred and Ami, my most valued running friends|
To put it succinctly, you start out with them because they provide a transactional value to you: the quantifiable benefits of having a training partner. But soon their friendship becomes more meaningful than some economic arrangement. You want to spend time with them because of their intrinsic human value. The fact that you get a training partner is just gravy.
|Melissa, my other most valued running friend|
Running for me has become part of my identity, and so when I interact with non-runners they tend to assume that I'm the first persona. They think that running 100 milers in some way resembles the way their cousin runs 5Ks. I guess for some 100-mile runners it does, but they're not like me. What I do is in no way similar to what the real runner does. It's not better or worse, but different. In fact the only thing I have in common with them is we run. "Running" seems like something that unites us, but not really. I can sometimes hang with real runners, especially if I want a hard workout for some reason, but they're typically not interested in hanging with me. To them, the way I train - at slow paces with lots of walk breaks (and sometimes a pizza and beer break) is a waste of their valuable training time, and that's OK. Everybody has their priorities.
|Some of my amazing tri club friends after an early morning track workout|
Everyone has their reasons when they start running. For me it was weight loss.
|400 lb Steve in the late 90s, with my cousin Sue. She is 21 now.|
And to be sure, if I stopped running tomorrow then my weight would probably balloon back to four hundred pounds. But I don't run to maintain weight. I run instead to maintain the circle of friends that mean more to me than running ever will. And to those friends: I can't overstate the gratitude that I feel. Thank you for the conversations both serious and light hearted, the opportunity to suffer together, and the insights I've gained into myself by your companionship. I'm a dramatically different person than I was ten years ago - much more honest, empathic, and disciplined - and I can't give credit to running; but rather to you.
To each and every one of you - thank you.
|Ami and I before Beast of Burden 2014 - her first 50 miler!|
|With Eric and Tony|
Tony taught me everything I know about running ultras.
|That time I was on a Badwater Crew for Tony (2010)|
Also: Chris, Eric, Meredith, Eddie, Herb
|Stephen, Bill, Jim|
|Tammy, Fred |
|Lynn David Newton|
|My tri club|
|Gary and Bob|
|The Three Days Crew, 2015|
|Randy and Phil |
|Melissa, Rick, and the Kids|
|Jonathan (matching socks)|
|RayK and Melissa|
|More Hashing Friends |
|Fred and Andy|
I thought it would be fun to enumerate all the marathon-and-longer distance events I've completed in the last ten years:
Las Vegas (2006)
Big Sur (2009)
Marine Corps (2011, 2013)
NJ Marathon (2013)
Across The Years 72 hour (2x)
Ancient Oaks 100 mile
Beast of Burden 100 mile
Booty Rumble 50K
Caumsett 50K (2x)
Damn Wakely Dam 32.6 Mile (2x)
Forgotten Forest 9 hour
Ghost Train 100 mile
Grand Teton 50 mile
Hinson Lake 24 hour
Hudson valley recover from the holidays 50K
JFK 50 mile
Knickerbocker 60K (2x)
Lake Waramaug 50K (2x)
NJ One Day 24 hour (3x)
NJ Ultra Festival 50 mile
North Coast 24 hour
Parsippany 12 hour (2x)
Russell B. Cheney 50K
San Francisco 50 mile
Ted Corbitt 24 hour
The Great New York 100 mile
Three Days at the Fair 48 hour (2x)
Three Days at the Fair 72 hour (4x)
Umstead 100 mile (3x)
Umstead 50 mile (2x)
Also: Ironman Florida (2012)
Final thought. 2016 has been a rough year for me in many ways. We received lots of bad news this year, and coping has been difficult for me. Two of the reasons for this are of ultrarunning friends - people who I spent time on the trail with, but not enough time - and who I wish I knew better - passed away.
|Eric and I in late 2015. He suddenly and unexpectedly passed away suddenly |
earlier this year. He was a kindred spirit, a lot like me. Family man and
unapologetic back of the packer, who forged his deepest friendships while running.
I had the distinct pleasure of sharing a few miles on the Ancient Oaks course with Stu Gleman in 2014
He passed away from cancer in September, shortly after finishing one last 100-miler
Here is a tribute to him, written by Laz
(ARFTA = A Race For the Ages; fixed time event that Laz puts on.)
the old guys at the ARFTA have stories to tell.
they have a love of life to share.
and lessons to teach.
greatest of those lessons...
to savor the moment.
when we are young,
we do the things that young men do.
we hurry always.
barely able to finish one thing,
before we must rush off to experience the next.
what irony that those
with all the time in the world
are the ones in a hurry.
and only when we feel the limits of that time
do we learn to slow down,
and savor the moment.
stu gleman was one of us at the ARFTA
savoring the moment.
it was his best performance in a long time.
it was his "one more hundred"
as, shortly before the clock ran out,
he completed his 110th circuit of the deadman mile.
for those who shared laps with him;
old friends who talked of days and races gone by,
new friends who might have heard the stories
the many stories
of a man who grew up poor in the west virginia hills
ran his first ultra in 1962
and was a NASA scientist,
when we were putting men on the moon.
stu was one of a kind.
i am sure the tributes will come
and the stories will be told.
what i remember most were his words a few days before the race.
ARFTA did not fit easily in his schedule,
"it is important that i come.
i have friends who will be there,
and i need to tell them that i love them."
we all know in our minds that we are not guaranteed tomorrow.
there comes a time in our life that we know it in our hearts.
stu knew it in his heart.
i am so glad that i had the chance to savor those moments with stu this weekend.
i am sorry that there were not more.
because there are no more tomorrows.
stu passed away tonight.
all that i have now are the memories.
but those will shine brightly,
until i have my own last tomorrow.
stu gleman was one of a kind.