Last Day, Last Run.

“Our limitations and success will be based, most often, on your own expectations for ourselves. What the mind dwells upon, the body acts upon.”

~Denis Waitley
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“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”


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My trusty headlamp, which guided me in the morning, by which I could see my breath, the rain and the spiderwebs:




And the shoes that carried me. 9 months old. Perfectly worn to flatness:





There is something about reaching the "end" of a long, hard process. It changes everything.

If you didn't know you were at the "end", or near completion, it would just be 13 miles. It would feel like the same 13 miles you had been running 9 previous times in the previous 4.5 days. And, it would hurt; it would be hard at times and RIDICULOUSLY hard at others, maybe less hard a teensy bit of the time. But the fact is, just knowing that completion is sooner than not makes us perform better.

Have you ever watched the end of a running race or a triathlon? People who were almost to the point of walking find a way to sprint home, going speeds they don't touch 364 other days a year, if only because the Finish Line is in sight.




To me, this ability means we have more in the tank than we realize---it just takes a special motivation to be accessed. Maybe it would be more applicable to say it means there is something about being at the end that allows us to access that which we did not know we had, just miles before.

As a result, I believe, the ability to dip into that tank is what separates good athletes from great athletes, because it means inflicting more pain, willingly, upon yourself. And, for a lot of us, enjoying that pain. That goes against everything we are taught, everything we know, and everything instinctually built in for survival. Yet, deep down in that primordial flux, it stirs in every one of us. Every single one of us can access that will, that determination, to push onward and harder into a sort of pain we never ever want to experience in any other forum. Given the right motivation, and the right circumstance, there is "more" in all of us than we dream possible. This fact could itself be the topic of much discussion, however it leads me to a different point altogether that is more applicable here:

What are Our Limitations?

A few of us, and I think we tend to clump together as friends because of like-minded "craziness", strive continually to learn what more we are capable of. In my late teens and early twenties I wound up in the hospital with gruesome injuries to the head as a result of my desire to see what I was "made of".

After climbing and summiting Mt Rainier 3 times and not feeling very challenged by the particular routes, in late June, 2003, I decided to join my friends from the American Alpine Institute for a more difficult journey. I decided to embark on a much more difficult route for me: LIberty Ridge. Liberty Ridge is in the middle of the picture, and it's that clear ridge right up the middle of the WIllis Wall on he North face of Rainier. This was far beyond my comfort level and experience level, and although I was well trained and climbing with some of the best there are to climb with, I almost didn't make it several times along the way. That is an example of doing something with the goal of exploring limitations, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Limit achieved.
I haven't climbed since.

I did a half-ironman the following weekend, and went too hard on the bike, and too fast early in the run, and blacked out.
Limit achieved, in some sense.

This week was my way of finding out what "more" was in me, but in terms of something more reasonable: Running.

Ironman pushed my limitations. Doing Ironman faster pushed them more.
The marathon on top of Kilauea didn't push them as much as I hoped.
I didn't ever considering running farther than a 50k but, like everyone else, I read the dumb book "Born to Run" and it got to me-- I figured it was time to run an ultra. I know enough at the ripe old age of 33 to not just go and sign up for a 50 or 100 mile run. I really thought about it a long time, privately, and realized I have never actually run as far as I can. Have you ever seen Forrest Gump? I know it sounds stupid, but, well, stupid is as stupid does. I needed to know. How far can I run?

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In the lab, everyone was familiar with what I was doing. My routine was to go and change then come back to my desk in my running attire (which at the end of each day was carrying several interesting aromas) and pack my hydration pack to go. Here are the two packs I used. The first, on the right, is the Camelback, which did not have enough cargo space and did not have two front straps therefore rendering it less stable. I used it only the first day. The second, on the left, is the Novarra which was a smashing success with its large pocket, multiple zippered pockets, double front torso straps and uber reflective nature.




I set out on that last 13 miles knowing how badly it was going to hurt. The previous two runs had impressed upon me just what kind of pain can emanate from muscles--even healthy ones. I ate better and drank more, but it still hurt. I knew it was going to, regardless of how much I lamented it. So I took off as fast as I could hold for 6 miles, which ended up being about 7:10 per mile. The pain went away, and soon it was just me, running, like always. I felt free, in a way I don't know how to put into words, exactly. At my halfway stop, I took my time. I enjoyed the feeling of having completed 124 of 130 miles. I had 4 gels with me, and I ate two the first six miles, saving the others for the last half. I was going to be meeting Jan somewhere near the end, but I didn't know exactly where or when. What I did know, however, is that I was running about 2.5 minutes per mile faster than I should have been in order to meet her on the trail. I decided to slow down.

My dad guessed that inertia was my biggest enemy right now, and boy, he was right. As long as I was running, everything was fine. Stopping hurt, but as long as I stayed stopped it was fine. Starting running again was excruciatingly painful this time, taking off for the last half of the last 13 miler. Thank goodness I am not doing this again. (No, tomorrow I would just be racing 9 miles.) Eventually the pain wore away, or I just got used to it, I don't know, and I loped along at around 8:30 per mile. At mile 4.5 I stopped and ate my next to last Hammer Gel and stretched for 5 to 10 minutes, waiting for Jan to show up. I decided to not wait any longer and started running, when who should appear but the Girl.

We jogged at her pace the rest of the way home, which was quite painful for me. I had to go into my "eye of the tiger" mode several times, shutting out the world around me, staring at the pavement 5 feet out, and just placing one foot in front of the other. One more time. One more time. One more time...

We crossed Bothell Way and I felt like I could walk the 200 yards home from there. As I entered the courtyard in our town-home complex, I looked at the sky and put my arms in the air and said the magic words "I did it."

But... Limitation Achieved?

“Any person who selects a goal in life which can be fully achieved, has already defined his own limitations”

~Cavett Robert

I dont think so.

Until next time.