Eight ultras later and only now am I starting to systematically ask myself why I continue to run these races.
The easy answer, until I get in at least, is that I’m trying to qualify for Western States. I’m eagerly anticipating the existential crisis that will greet me once I finally finish that race. Maybe I’ll replace it with another Western States attempt (what better treadmill than the one you just got off) or another race (Leadville??) but that’s for another writing entry and another time. For all I know, I’m still 10 years away.
That being said, in this case, having already qualified with SD100, I can’t use that answer for Wasatch. Multiple qualifying races during the same window doesn’t increase your chances of getting into Western States so from the lottery perspective, this race is meaningless.
So what remains?
The glib answer is that I got into this race unexpectedly. I wasn’t planning on getting in. In fact, when the credit card charge came through on the day of the lottery, I thought it was fraud or an error by the ultrasignup website. It took a little bit of sleuthing to figure out that I had in fact gotten selected into a race with what I had assumed was a notoriously difficult lottery, one that’s supposed to require years of attempts before finally getting in.
Seeing as I wasn’t even aware of this race before an ultrarunner friend pointed out the progressive lottery that was similar to Western States, I have very little anticipation or fanfare associated with the event. I simply assumed entering was giving myself a degree of optionality in the future. Maybe I’d use it for a future year’s Western States lottery entry, maybe I’d come to appreciate the race and decide to independently push for it.
What I did not expect was that I’d get in on my very first year.
This experience is making me appreciate not getting into Western States in my first few attempts. The cachet of that race is much greater so I’d definitely feel the weight of the opportunity to run it but I would have also missed out on a core part of the experience, the multi-year hope that only builds as dashed hopes and dreams accumulate, very likely exponentially, in correspondence with the number of entries you get each subsequent year.
But here I am and the question remains. I could have bailed although that would have meant forfeiting the entry fee. And so because the race remains, it forces me to go even deeper, to provide the answer below the answer, the one that I may not even be aware of as of yet.
Very few activities provide the same sense of achievement as running an ultra, even now, when I’m no longer pushing myself to go farther and farther. What I’ve found as I’ve run more and more races is that the distance itself becomes less of the headliner and more the surface area for which the real challenge can be borne. In the case of Wasatch, it will be the elevation gain and the temperature swings coming together to mean it will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the most time consuming 100 miler I will have ever run, assuming I finish. That’s not to say it will be the longest race I will have run, that honor will stay with Tahoe 200 for quite some time.
That being said, 30 hours, if I am able to hit my gold level goal, is a very long time to be engaging in a single physical exertion. It is a very long time to remain awake. It is a very long time to be in the mountains of Salt Lake City.
Even outside of finishing the race, and the sense of pride that it engenders, races are a way for me to unabashedly ask and receive support. I have always felt emotions as I near the finish line of every ultra I’ve ever run, only recently have I started to feel emotion as I enter the aid stations along the course, especially in the cold of night, the noise and lights serving as early indicators for the beacons of warmth and support they usually are.
The reality is that I appreciate the structure and rhythm the races bring to my life. One race with a full training plan will dominate at least 5 months of the year and the fact that I tend to do 2 ultras a year (even if one is just a personal challenge) means practically the entire calendar is accounted for. And that structure ensures I stay in shape, that I meditate (since running is my form of meditation), that I spend time outside, that I relearn all the lessons that running has afforded me, many of those lessons also being useful outside of running.
I also get to learn something about myself during the races. It’s a form of self awareness practice that is unrivaled. It’s hard to lie to yourself when you’re in the midst of pushing that same self to its absolute limits. In the same way the hero of almost every action movie threatens a villain by dangling them over some type of precipice in order to get the truth out of them, the ultra forces me to be very honest about what I want and why.
I go into this race on the eve of my longest sabbatical. Longer than the one I took after Motaavi, my first startup that I did post-college (although even the slightest of scrutinies would look on that entire endeavor as a sabbatical). I have learned many things about myself and am now ready to start putting some of those learnings to practice.
I’ve decided this race will mark the official end date of the sabbatical. Not in any clean way since it’s not like I have my next opportunity lined up and waiting. But it will mark a shift in mindset, something I’ve come to learn can mean more than any actual act. And in that mindset shift, maybe it will officially mark a new chapter in my life. Who knows? Transitions aren’t always as clean as they are in theory or in story, they tend to fade from one to another, only with the benefit of historical narrative do the turning points ever become clear.
That’s all to say, I have a lot of thinking to do during the race and a lot of time to do it. The journey through the mountains will surely be as illuminating as it will be rewarding, whatever the outcome may be. And if nothing else, I’ll have stories to share and learnings to internalize.