In May I ran an ultramarathon race called Mauna to Mauna. More specifically it was a 7 day, self-supported stage race. I carried a 20lb pack on my back that held my week's rations of food, clothing, and equipment. The race directors provided water, a shared community tent, and a map of the route. While everyday was a different distance, it averaged out to a marathon per day for a full week, with a long stage of ~50 miles in the middle. The terrain was brutal (over lava fields and volcanoes) and climate varied (ranging very wet and extremely cold nearing freezing to so hot the back of my hands blistered in the sun). Events like this teach an individual a great many lessons - here are 10 that I found highly relevant to the work I do with my teams and our client partners.My race detailed report of the experience can be found here: http://shawnboomrunning.blogspot.com/2017/06/mauna-to-mauna-race-report.html
The lessons one learns and character one builds during the pursuit of stretch goals becomes chiseled into the soul. Here are my top ten lessons that an ultramarathon event like this can translate to work life:
1. The goal may be a personal one but the journey is made up of amazing people by your side who you rely on for support, encouragement, team work, ideas, and shared passion: share the journey
2. When the moment feels awful and you hit an ultimate low, if you refocus on the basics you can always climb back to a high.
3. In the moments of exhaustion, when battling raw challenges, it becomes just how right Maslow was: all you really need is food, water, air, a warm place to rest, and people around you
4. The value of the right gear can’t be underestimated. Carry only what you need and find multiple ways to use it to problem solve. Everything has multiple purposes.
5. Passion takes you further than talent and persistence carries you more than preparation
6. Leverage persistence appropriately: Have a plan but be smart enough to recognize when you need to change it because there are different ways to accomplish the end goal
7. When you think you are alone in your battle, you will eventually realize others are observing and learning from you – act accordingly.
8. There are times for both big picture thinking and tactical work. It can be overwhelming to think about the thousands of steps required to get to the end. Breaking the journey into parts and celebrating each milestone makes for more celebrations but it’s important to check back on the big picture as you progress.
9. Know what your goal is and don’t confuse yours with someone else’s
10. Bring nothing negative to the trail. Nothing erodes the pleasure of a moment like someone complaining.
and a bonus #11: Hard results matter! Did you achieve your goal or not. If not, what can you learn and take with you for later. If so, success it addictive!
Boom Running Blog
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Mauna to Mauna Race Report
MAUNA TO MAUNA RACE REPORT: www.m2multra.com
After finishing the Tahoe 72 mile run in the fall of 2016, a
friend suggested that I check out something called “self-supported stage
racing”. In the Tahoe race I had went
out without a crew and carried (or in some cases stashed along the route) all
of the supplies I needed for the ultramarathon (an ultramarathon it considered
anything longer than a standard 26.2 miler).
While I had never heard of the concept, I came to learn first-hand,
first through research and then through full immersion, that these self-supported
stage races are an animal of a different kind.
I’ve seen my share of ultra-events that last through sunrises and
sunsets, sometimes a couple of each, but so far nothing has come close to the
experience that I found at the Mauna to Mauna event on the big island of
Hawaii.
Harsh and beautiful landscape |
The race was a 7-day event covering a total of 250 km (155
miles). When I signed up I wasn’t sure
what to expect so a lot of internet learning ensued. I watched videos from the Grand to Grand and
Marathon De Sables, two big races that have a similar format and somewhat equal
distances. I saw a handful of great
youtube videos about what to expect and various strategies on equipment,
training, packing, nutrition and feet care as some major topics. I learned that competitors carry all of their
equipment for a week in a backpack which is generally not much bigger (but way more expensive!) than what the
kids take to school. The one I took to the starting line was 20
liters in volume, with a 4 liter front pack and this became my turtle shell to
haul all of my gear along the way.
Race Format:
People have asked quite a bit about how the
format of these races work. I had no idea when I was learning about them either. While other events may differ, this one had a set mileage we had to cover each day. Every morning we started at 8am and ran until we finished that day’s course. The mileage was:
·
Day 1:
26.7 miles
·
Day 2:
19.1 miles
·
Day 3:
20.2 miles
· Day 4 and 5: 48 miles (this day is combined into two because we ran overnight which meant that for me I started at 8am on Day 4 and finished 25 hours later on the morning of Day 5)
·
Day 6:
29.1 miles
·
Day 7: 5
miles
The total elevation gain was 22,000 feet which was about 6,000 feet more than the course originally planned for. It’s hard to comprehend how much this kind of elevation gain is so suffice it to say it’s a LOT, and generally speaking for each foot of gain there was a foot of loss – and going down can actually be considerably tougher than going up in many cases.
The faster you finish each day, the more time you get in
camp to recover your body in preparation for the next day’s task. In addition to covering the miles, we had to
carry all of our gear with us. This
realization opened up a whole additional set of questions when I was first
learning. Would I bring a change of
clothes for each day? How, with my
appetite being so ferocious, could I carry 7 days of food with me? Could my shoulders handle carrying this much
weight? What were the sleeping
arrangements going to be like? How could
I carry that much water? What was the
bathroom situation?
Even up until the first day some of these questions
lingered. I learned that this was part
of the lesson – not everything can be planned.
Attitude often matters more than preparation or knowledge of the details
and that was absolutely the case in this epic week.
The planning that I did included a lot of trial and error on
every piece of equipment. There were
mandatory and optional equipment components to “the kit” or the pack and gear
you take with you. Even though it
consumed many evenings over many months, I researched every piece of my kit
meticulously. My computer had an average
of 3 tabs of gear open in google at any one time. I would spend hours each evening reading
about ultralight rain ponchos, compass and knife combo-kits, what the best
weight to lumen ratio is for a running headlamp (we needed two), and of course
what backpack would be best suited for the job.
With this being such a niche group, I discovered that most of the
people’s reviews I read or watched were actually at the race or had done sister
races, because it turns out that the community of characters who does this
stuff definitely are active participants in the sport and in their own lives.
The mandatory and optional gear can be found at http://m2multra.com/m2m-equipment. I’ll work on sharing the full inventory of my
kit separately and trying to contribute to some of the equipment reviews and
recommendations so a future first timer like me has more information to
peruse.
Each racer had to carry all of her mandatory gear, each
day. The ideas of the course was to run
across the Big Island of Hawaii, camping by night and running by day. Because of the difficulty and some last
minute changes by both landowners hosting our camp as well as property owners
who needed to grant rights to have us pass through, the course ended up still
traversing the island but did include some bus shuttles throughout the week to
get us from one camp to the next before the start. I am sure that the amazing race directors
will continue to work with the Big Island contacts they made to develop this
course into a fully contiguous race in the future, without the need for
shuttles.
Training:
I drew on some internet forum feedback, and the experiences
I’ve had from various ultras in the past to develop a training plan. It included many, many weekends chalked full
of back-to-back days of long runs where on a Saturday I would plan to do a 20
miler, then a 30 miler on Sunday. The training
protocol was relentless, or shall I say
that it would have been if I actually had followed it. As it turns out, after a marathon in February
and a long week of training after (up to 80 miles that week including a 30
miler on top of the marathon) I went on a snowboarding trip for 3 days. During the trip my calf muscles got extremely
tight and when I returned home, rather than taking a day or two for recovery I
went too hard straight into running again.
Because I overdid it, I battled a posterior tibialis problem (think
Achilles tendon pain meets shin splints) for March and April, the two prime
training months. I struggled to walk
during this time, as every step in daily life, from walking through the airport
to commuting from one conference room to the next at work, was excruciating. While running wasn't a big option for training during much of the lead up to the race, I cross trained with Crossfit SISU in Excelsior, MN to work on strength training, mainly with my upper body to rest my foot. As I was staring down the start day in
Mid-May, I met Dr. Jordan Roby who is an amazing sports medicine doc referred by Pat and Thomas at SISU. He made me hold all training for 2 weeks in
April and worked on cross-friction massage, Graston treatment, and used the suction
cups we all saw during the summer Olympics which left interesting bruise
patterns all over my legs. I didn’t
think I’d be able to race but Dr. Roby got me healthy with 3 weeks to spare
before the start. With my training plan
completely blown, I focused on getting to the starting line healthy even if I
wasn’t well conditioned. My longest run in
the 3 months prior to the event was 10 miles.
Fortunately, when I work from home I was able to use a 20 lb weight vest
at my standing desk to get my shoulders and feet conditioned for the load I was
going to carry. I also had mounted my
computer on my home treadmill so was able to spend long days both working and
walking slowly at 2-3 miles per hour. It’s
amazing how a 10 hour day at that speed can add up to considerable mileage,
which doesn’t do much to condition the aerobic system but gets the feet and
mind used to moving for long periods of time without the impact of
running. Over the course of a couple months
the vest became part another part of my wardrobe and I could wear it for 8-12
hours without really noticing, although the neighbors certainly thought I was
weird doing yardwork with it (and they were right). Without the running miles under my belt, this
was the only thing that made me feel like I was ‘training’. It was a false sense of security but also one
of the first lessons of this race in that you have to assess your situation,
use your limited resources and what you can with what is around, and manage
through the situation you are in at that moment. My lack of readiness was certainly a tough
situation.
Nutrition
Hawaii’s Island time is 5 hours behind my central time
zone. I flew out on Thursday, May 12th
to get in town, organize my kit, and adjust to the time zone before our
Saturday departure to the starting line.
After a 3 hour flight to LAX and a 5 hour flight to Kona, I landed on
the Big Island and met two of my fellow racers at the airport. We shared a cab to the hotel 35 miles away. When I arrived, I couldn’t sleep and I awoke
on Friday to spend 5 hours organizing my kit, moving the freeze-dried meals
that made up most of my food from the pre-packaged plastic into Ziploc
bags. One of the first things I bought
when getting my gear organized was a kitchen scale. I can now tell you that a sandwich sized Ziploc
bag weights 4 grams. If you imagine the
part of the Ziploc that clicks together, then think about the extra plastic
above the part that clicks…you can reduce another ½ gram by cutting that off. This is how relentless the weight management
portion of the strategy is. So for 5
hours I moved dehydrated food from the plastic it came in to a lower weight Ziploc
bag. Each day had a full set of food in
a freezer sized Ziploc. Most days
consisted of:
Breakfast:
- · 2 oatmeals
- · 1 starbuck’s instant coffee
- · Sometimes a Pro Meal Bar
Lunch: Ate while
running
- · Macadamia nuts or sunflower seeds (tried to get 1000 calories from them – high fat which I have trained my body to digest during long, slow efforts)
- · Chia Seed bars – quick carbs
- · 1-2 gu packets or cliff shot bloks
- · Pro Meal Bars
Post Run Snack:
- · Protein shake and some kind of a bar
Dinner:
- · Freeze Dried food – I had never had these before but for a couple hundred grams you can pack 800+ calories by simply adding hot water and letting a buffet of different meals emerge such as Biscuits and Gravy, “Lasagna”, Ham and Eggs, and Sweet and Sour Chicken.
- · Chicken or Beef Bone Broth
- · Miso Soup
- · Tea – something warm to keep the stomach feeling full, a constant battle for me.
The race required 14,000 calories for the 7 days to comply
with the rules. I brought 19,000 calories, which after informal polls of
others, I would guess was 2,000-3,000 calories more than the average
competitor. It also made my pack weigh
~21 lbs. when many others were in the 17-18 range. I had bought a great kit of lightweight gear
so the weight difference wasn’t in my equipment, it was in the extra calories. I figured it was worth it to me, however, as
I get extremely hungry after even my shorter runs.
Arrival and Gear
Check
Fresh on day 0 |
On Friday afternoon, May 12th, we checked
in. The pre-race process was like I’ve
never seen before. I’m used to trading
my name for a bib and 4-safety pins upon check-in. As I walked into the beautiful open air room
overlooking the pacific ocean, I was greeted by name from Tess Geddes, the
wonderful co-director of the race (which is also run by her lively husband
Colin). I had never met but she had
clearly been paying attention to the facebook group because she knew me right
away. This gave an instant sense of
family and community, which continued all week with everyone involved. I was ushered in to a set of tables full of
waivers for liability, photography and videos (there were a handful of film
crews and documentary folks seemingly around all week looking for their
footage). Another table had scales to
get pre-race weight of the runners, and yet another to do a full inventory
check of all mandatory gear and calories.
At the gear-check table we met the volunteers and medical crews who we
would get to know by first name throughout the week. They opened our pack, looked at of every
piece of gear, and had us write our number on everything (in case it was lost
we were given time penalties so we could ensure that we left not trace along
the course). After check-in I went back
to my hotel room, where I was bunking with an amazing Israeli runner, Assaf, and
I worked on trying to reduce my pack weight from the 22.5 lbs that had just
been weighed in, to something more manageable.
It seemed that even with my gram counting, I was still off by multiple
lbs. versus what would be ideal. Assaf
has done events like this before and had a pack weighing 5 lbs less than mine,
so he helped me relentlessly cut gear. It
became a joke between us about how I was going to be bringing an inflatable
pillow and how evidently I should skip the pillow and instead use my shoes to
rest my head on instead – every gram counts.
I tossed my pillow reluctantly
into the bag that was staying behind in storage. After he was done I sought the advice from
the race commissioner who did the same thing, which is to say he systematically
eliminated every creature comfort I had brought, which combined saved me 2.5
lbs. I was worried about how much I had
taken out and what I would regret later.
Yes, I found later, there were deep regrets to be had!
·
Inflatable pillow
- · 5 electrolyte tablets / day for my water (35 total)…I already had electrolyte pills, these were just a luxury to make the water taste better
- · Extra running shorts (turns out the answer to one of my questions is that you DON’T bring a change of clothes…you run all week in one set of running gear)
- · Specialty Rain Poncho (yes, the one I spent hours researching…I ditched this for a much lighter single use, emergency only rain poncho to meet the mandatory gear requirements…this was the one piece of my kit I desperately wished for as I got into the race)
- · 2,000 calories – he laughed that I already had 19,000 and suggested I could lose some of the tailwind powder (gets mixed into water and used for carbs as you run).
- · Extra pair of sandals which I had planned to use at camp in the evening rather than the one pair of running shoes I was bringing. The idea was to give my feet a chance to dry out while my shoes did the same. I traded them in for the lightweight, bleached white disposable slippers in the hotel room closet which would serve as my evening foot attire for the week because they saved me 300 grams.
After eliminating my gear it was time to fill the
belly. That evening we were treated to a
dinner I enjoyed sitting at the
table with the medical crew, all of whom were volunteering from their day jobs
(mainly as ER docs) and most of whom have made a tradition out of using their
PTO time to come support various races like this. I came to appreciate just how amazing and
important they are to every single runner on the course. For the full 155 miles, one of them was
planted every (appx) 6-10 miles making sure we were safe. They had seen all of the common ailments that
plague runners in these kinds of events and therefore had exceptional advice
and care for everything from nausea to blisters. I also appreciated their no bullshit approach
to giving advice. There wasn’t much
sympathy prescribed, mainly just facts, because after all everyone may have had
different issues to get through medically through the week but we shared a
common tolerance for pain and discomfort and we had indeed placed ourselves voluntarily
into this misery. Facts mattered more
than sympathy if we were going to get the job done.
where we got to meet other races and get our first of the week’s daily briefings.
where we got to meet other races and get our first of the week’s daily briefings.
On Saturday we left at 12pm from the hotel where everyone
loaded up on shuttles and drove from the West Coast (north of Kona) to the East
Coast (Hilo). I learned during this
drive just how rugged and raw the lava fields were. Everywhere I looked, there was black
lava. Even under the grassy areas it was
lava. I later learned that touching the
lava was like touching razor sharp coral – and falling on it was tragic.
We stayed at a Volcano Winery the first night. They treated us to a ‘last supper’ buffet at
the camp after a 30-min pre-race briefing as seen in the photos below:
At the pre-race briefing the weight of what's about to happen started hitting me |
Pre-Race Briefing the night before Stage 1 |
There were 10 tents set up, each able to hold
10 racers. I was in tent 3 and got to
meet my tent-mates who were each amazing individuals and I couldn’t have picked
better people to spend the week with.
Camp looked like this:
What a typical camp looked like |
I was tent 3, thank god for amazing tentmates |
After getting the tent situated and having dinner, we were treated to a
view of the active volcano where we saw the lava flow – a dramatic first
evening on the course.
Volcano the night before the start |
Then at the volcano, the rain started. And it didn’t stop.
The Race
The first 3 days we were soaked. The temperatures were cool, probably ranging
from 35-55 degrees most of the time. We
ran 26.7 miles on the first day which included a mix of road running, farmland,
trails, river crossings, and jungle. We
rolled into the finish line, each on our own time, but all to a mess of
wetness, mud and slop. It was so wet
that by the time we finished the miles from the first day, the camp crew hadn’t
yet finished setting up all of the tents.
We stood around waiting to get out of the elements and from that point
through the next 2 stages of 19.1 and 20.2 miles, our clothes did not dry. We rung them out, hung them up inside the
tent (which did no good to dry them, just had them dripping onto the floor and
getting our sleeping gear wet), and hoped they would marginally dry
overnight. Each morning we woke up in
cold weather, music blasting “Shape of You” as our alarm clock in the 5:45am
morning darkness, and had to put on our wet running gear for another day. Play that song for anyone who spent the week on the volcanos and I promise it will bring back instant flashbacks! Shoes were soaking wet, so much so that as
you walked water would squeeze out of them and sloshing was the main
sound. We ate our dried breakfast, stood
in the rain for the pre-race briefing, and headed out again for another 7-10
hours of running in the rain. It sounds
miserable, and it was, but it’s also a journey that we took with others
experiencing the same thing who all knew we were doing something special.
I was shocked at how very few conversations
all week I had with people who mentioned anything negative, despite the
circumstances we chose to place ourselves in.
It reminded me of a rule I now have in these events…’bring nothing
negative to the trail’. It’s not fair to
yourself, or to others trying to have an experience, to bring negativity into
the journey. Dark thoughts certainly
come up, but you have to recognize them quickly, address them immediately
(usually food or a technical issue with gear is the problem), and them move on
without spreading toxic energy. On the
first day, at the first checkpoint, a volunteer said “what do you want”? I asked, “what do you have?” as if I were in
a normal marathon and they may have jelly beans or bananas as a surprise. They responded with “water”, so that’s what I
had and all that they offered the rest of the week. While they provided water and shelter, the
rest was up to us.
Standard Issue Checkpoint - a table, awesome volunteers and medical crew, water, and eletrolytes |
After the 3rd day we made our way to the west
side of the island which was better in terms of weather. Having covered 75 miles in the rain, this was
a welcomed treat. My challenge was that
with 4 miles left on day 3, I was freezing cold and hitting a dark moment so
decided to run faster than I should have for the conditions I was in. I stepped wrong on a rock and my Achilles
instantly hurt. I limped back, really
worried that my race week was over. I
was in the rain, freezing cold, couldn’t stop because I risked hypothermia, and
was facing my biggest fear of the week – a DFN (did not finish, which I’ve
never had in my running career). I
elevated my foot all night and took anti-inflammatory drugs hoping that I would
recover during my sleep and be ok for the 48 miler the next day. That night I reflected on the first 66 miles
of wet, cold, hungry running and started really appreciating how all we really
need in life is to be warm with food, water, shelter, and people we care
about. The ‘extras’ in life beyond that
started to get stripped away and what mattered most became more and more clear
each moment for the rest of the journey.
The Stick that helped me finish 48 miles on the volcano |
Another with the stick. I wanted to name it "Wilson" after Castaways. I would have made a face if i was carrying a sharpie. |
My first steps on day 4 were to the port-a-potty. In addition to giving us water and tents, the
port-a-potty was the other luxury. Evidently
many races like this one don’t afford the runners the niceties of an enclosed
bathroom and communal holes in the ground are common (thankfully these were
clean and amazing). The first step hurt
bad. By this time in the week I had
taken to wearing my ziplock bags on my feet to keep them dry while I went about
the camp. It was too wet to wear my
bleach white slippers through the slopping mud.
My Achilles was aching with sharp, shooting pains but I decided I would
drug up with Aleve early (can’t take it during the run or it risks Kidney
issues), and at least start the day to see if it would magically go away. In the first mile, it hurt horribly but I
found a stick in the brush on the side of the and broke away the extra
branches, snapped it a bit over waist height, and carried with me for the next
47 miles to act as my ‘running cane’. It
turned out to be a full day of limping from 8am on Wednesday to 9am on
Thursday. We climbed 9,000+ feet on
Mauna Kea and I struggled every single step.
I used my headband wrapped around my wrist to create a strap on this
artificial cane, and after getting blisters on my thumb and palm from the
rubbing, I put a sock on my hand to protect it.
I ‘ran’ / limped all day and into the evening. At about 8pm I was 12 hours in and standing
on top of the volcano. Having climbed
above the clouds I saw the sunset from above, I’ll never forget standing at the
top of this volcano, which looked like mars with the black rock and sand
landscape, as the starts emerged. It
turns out that the top of Mauna Kea is a world renown astronomy spot with,
literally, the best star gazing in the world.
I took in the sunset as checked in at the turn around on the summit and
began to descend the trail I had just spent the day running up.
I was then in a race against the clock. My foot hurt but it threatened to get to 30 degrees at the elevation I was at. I needed to get off the volcano and back to the finish line, 24 miles away, as fast as possible. I did a ridiculous speed-limp for the next 14 miles before I become ineffective at traversing the terrain. The elevation gain and losses were dramatic and I would not be surprised if the average pitch was a 35-40 degree incline or decline. In the darkness of the night, at 1am, I decided that I would stop at a sleeping check point and get a bit of rest. I took my sleeping bag and mat out of my pack and slept under one of the canopies they had set up. I got a bit over 2 hours and woke back up after 3am to put on my wet, cold clothes again and brave the very cold temps. I was shivering uncontrollably and feeling very nauseous from the elevation. To warm up I started doing pushups, which was a ridiculous thing to do at 3am on a volcano, but I needed the bloodflow to get moving without taxing my legs. Before hitting the trail again I needed to make myself eat. I took the warm water that was provided and rehydrated my powdered meal and after the first bite I was ready to throw up. I held physically held my mouth closed with my hands to keep the food down and finally got into a mental place where I could eat the rest of the meal, each time I swallowed was a battle to keep it down. I knew that throwing up would severely impact my ability to finish because I didn’t have enough calories to replace what I would lose and it was unlikely I could eat and digest more food to sustain me to the finish that morning. My stomach began getting upset and I was very glad to have taken extra toilet paper with. I am not going to lie, there are moments of pure loss of shame in these races and I absolutely pulled off the side of the volcano, hung my ass over the side of a rock, and am sorry for what I left behind. A few miles down the trail, as the sunrise started emerging, I checked in with the last checkpoint crew. I had my third blister emerging and sat down for the first time to ask the aid station for help/advise on what to do. The wonderful doc pierced it with a needle (see image) and before squeezing it to drain the fluid she said, “oooh, this one is going to be juicy”. She squeezed it and it immediately shot straight into her eye. I felt so bad but she didn’t miss a beat and just kept helping repair my blister. I suggested that next time the piercing hole should be on the runner’s side of the wound so it shoots toward them!
Blister Repair - I'm still recovering 30 days later from the blisters |
At the 48 mile stage finish with a smile - an obstacle overcome |
Eventually
I limped to the finish around 9am.
What a standard finish line looks like - not like the typical commercial marathon we are used to! |
The shuttle bus picked us up and took us to the next camping
location, which was AMAZING. We had
graduated from rain and volano elevation to the beach. The sun was out, 85 degree weather was
greeting us, and we had all afternoon on Thursday to recover and get ready for
Friday’s 30-miler. There were public
beach showers and the race directors even treated us to a can of cold coke and
a warm donut - - free calories that we didn’t have to carry! Evidently this is a tradition at these races
and was a very welcomed treat.
"I hear there are donuts today?" |
Each day throughout the week there were a couple people who
would drop out. The bar was high for
entry, so everyone in the race was already proven to be tough as nails. After the long stage on day 4-5, statistics
were sound that nobody would suffer that much and drop. To my knowledge, everyone that made it
through the 48-milers went on to finish the race. That afternoon everyone rested hard. Many of us found a piece of concrete in a
public shelter and grabbed a nap
The last big test was day 6.
We faced 30 miles and I was really worried about my foot. I soaked it in the ocean for an hour after
the long stage, but also had new blisters to contend with (like most
folks). As we got into the first few
miles of this stage, I took off from the start with my stick, headband and sock
setup. I babied my foot for the first
few miles but then figured that I would see if I could run through the pain
given that it was the last big stage. I
was constantly calibrating how hard I could push through the pain versus when I
was going to do damage that could have me out of
Afternoon nap in public shelter after the 48 mile stage. People thought we were homeless |
running for months after. After about 5 miles I got rid of the stick
and was able to run again. Every 30 or
so steps had a sharp pain but I figured out how to manage through and I had a
great stage. We traversed some amazing
terrain including a private ranch that covered about 7 miles. It was blazing hot and hard to get good
footing with the volcanic rock at every step, but I was running without my
stick. We were making our way back to
the ocean.
Seeing the ocean in the distance - marks the end of the stage |
As I came across the
ranch, in between valleys of volcanos, and crested a hill that showed the ocean
where the finish line was going to be the next day, it gave me shivers filled
with energy.
The end is always in mind
but imagining it in your head verses beginning to see it unfold and emerge
right in front of you, it answers all of the questions of “why”. The back of my hands were getting so
sunburned at this point that they were blistering, my lips were bubbling with
their own blisters and constantly popping and refilling with fluid, and my feet
had 10 different blisters competing for space inside my shoes. I had rubbed my
hands raw holding my walking stick, and yet I started laughing to myself out
loud, giddy about where I was and what I was accomplishing.
An amazing landscape to run through |
After getting to camp in the late afternoon of the day 6,
30-miler, I knew I was going to complete the beast. The next and final day we
had a ‘charity 5-miler’. We woke up,
strapped on our much lighter packs (each day I had eaten through about 1lb of
dried food so I’m guessing the pack was now about 14 lbs), and headed to the
finish. It was insanely hot but it
didn’t matter. My amazingly supportive, (and always tolerant with my crazy
pursuits), wife Bethany was waiting for me at
the finish line. I knew that the week was about to come to an end in a
celebration with so many new friends who thrived during the journey. I will never forget coming around the corner
of the Hapuna Beach Prince Golf course, hearing the finish line cheering about ½
mile before I could see it, knowing that people ahead of me and behind me were
experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and how lucky I was to be with
them.
The finish line sprint after 155 miles |
Many people ask why people do races like these. The ‘why’ of these events can’t be
explained, only felt, in moments like these.
The feeling runs deep and never leaves but the more times you get it,
the more it compounds and accumulates and the more you want it again. The addiction of accomplishment despite all
odds is my personal “why”. The mind is
what makes accomplishments happen more than anything and everyone needs to know
that while every situation’s successful outcome is measured in different ways, whatever
is in front of them can be battled and conquered. Each night at camp as we would return to our
tents, the volunteers would hand deliver printed out emails that were sent
through the website. One friend and
former colleague mentioned how he was sharing the race journey with his kids
each night at dinner and using it as a chance to teach about goal setting and
battling through tough stuff. That’s
what this is about for me – knowing that the message transcends running and can
enter the real world.
To cross the finish line is like a drug and the moments
between when you see it coming and when you cross are the times a runner like
me feels most alive, and immediately wants it again.
These are the moments that are earned and what you earn can
never be taken for granted. Running is
for gratitude.
Bethany waiting for me at the finish (with beers and strawberries, both of which were shared with new friends and the most amazing treats ever) |
Finish line with the race directors, Colin and Tess Geddes. Thanks for the amazing event! |
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