An ambitious attempt at 100 miles:

The ultimate truck bed setup

I can’t say I awoke, not truly, because that would imply having been asleep before that. Certainly, not for a lack of trying but between the heavy winds pushing around my makeshift tent infrastructure loosely fixed in the bed of my truck and the anxious pre-race jitters I can’t say I slept too restfully. I sluggishly pulled myself out of my cozy warm sleeping bag the way that one lugs themselves out of their burrito blanket wrap on an early chilly Monday morning. Ahead of me lied one of my greatest challenges yet, my conscious — willing- decision to embark on my first 100-mile attempt. I fully intend on suffering through 100 miles of pounding on my feet through some course of the next 30 hours. The catch? I run maybe once or twice a week on my own accord and have only just signed up a week before. I live and endure off the principle and training philosophy that with intense and diverse enough training setting stage for a sound fundamental overall fitness- one can, with strong mental tenacity, accomplish anything. It’s a strange decision, to fully and whole heatedly know that you will endure some extreme force of suffering — and yet, simultaneously, enjoy every aspect of it. Grit is an interesting thing, some might define as a quality of character employed by two sub qualities: willingness and optimism. The optimism to know that all human feelings and experience is impermeable and is finite- to include all good or bad, every beginning is some other beginnings end. The Willingness to endure said suffering — to know that it is inevitable but so is the joy and accomplishment of intrinsic fortitude and internal success. Ultimately, isn’t all true-genuine success only self-defined? — and for me I seem to define success as being able to half haphazardly sign up for events that would hospitalize even some of the most versed, dedicated athletes. As such, I don’t have many friends that share this philosophy and find myself driving to, racing, and suffering the drive back on my own often in a very rapid weekend warrior timeline. This race was no exception and after a six-hour post-work road trip I parked the Dodge in the first available space I saw at the race packet park. I’ am rocking some tights overlapped with some crazy design kickboxing shorts, an Invictus Cross Fit T-shirt, some shin compression socks, and a North face beanie -pulling a Patagonia middle-weight puff jacket on over my wind chilled skin; it’s a brisk 37-degree morning. I drop the tailgate and begin dawning my gear for the next 30 hours- extra socks, shoes, my race vest, GU’s, cola, and an assortment of snacks. I light up the MSR jet-boil and begin my morning Oatmeal and coffee, pinning my bib to my ninja shorts- very fitting since I was planning on kicking some butt, even if it was only my own. “You’re a pro- look at you” a friendly voice remarks on my tailgate-top cooking set up. I laugh, I do have quite a bit of truck camping experience and am proud at how far I have come from fearing lighting the fuel to my now almost nonchalant propane to match work. We continue to exchange some words about today's intended aspirations, training, and overall expectations. It’s his second time on the course and is aiming to get his first 75-miler. His transparent stuffed gear boxes messily arrayed out behind his Subaru; a common feng shui of an ultra-runner- a strangely organized disarray. The countdown for the start is radiated by the corner length line in front of the porta johns; racers pacing their warmup traditions, guzzling their pre-race concoctions, and taking their Facebook -Instagram selfies.

The crowd begins its shift to the starting line; the array of support tents lining the only pavement our feet will touch for the next 24 hours. A brief speech welcomes and thanks everyone for their attendance and support; the race gun fires and unlike your typical 5k it’s a snail’s pace on our concrete carpet forward.

A mere half a mile into the course my soul is as warmed by the tree line swallowing all the racers whole- as is my body by my jacket. I almost, embarrassingly, pull to the side of the dirt track the way I’d pull my car over with the hazards on an interstate; awkwardly and hesitantly just trying to stay out of the way. I peel the layers off and trudge back on my course. The thing about these kind of races — the allure and captivation of them comes from many intrinsic motivations and accomplishments but so to am I perplexed by the overwhelming friendliness of the people doing the race. Who’d think that willing bodies enduring an excruciating amount of pain on their bodies would take the energy to talk, share, and help others- when we can barely salvage a smile from a stranger in passing on most days. The course is divided into three parts; it’s important when getting into these sorts of strange adventure challenges you find milestones, as a fellow triathlete once told me on a particularly difficult swim course, “ just swim buoy to buoy put your head back in the water, drive on, and look at the next one…” . The first aid station just a short 3 miles in was a the half way point on the course for the out and back ; overall it was a magical and well-articulated 15 mile loop; 7.5 out, with the 3 mile middle man, and back with an exquisite aid station at each end- the race was simple: do as many laps as you could in a 24 hour span. My goal was simple too; see what I could do- how far could I push my body.

Stay tuned for part 2!

this is a mirrior of my article on medium.com/@Lifesachase

(This is a mirrior of my article on medium.com/@Lifesachase)