I started really running about seven years ago. I was road-running and harboring hopes of doing a marathon some day. After doing a half marathon in the streets of Charlotte, NC, I came to the conclusion that running was stupid, boring, and a waste of my damn time. Not long after that though, I took a run along a single track trail in a forest and quickly realized that this was the type of running that I truly loved. Around this time I learned what an ultra marathon was (any race over the 26.2 miles that is a marathon) and thought that “Now THAT is stupid!” Then I met some folks who run Ultras and was taken by how much they enjoy the simple sport of running. I did end up doing a marathon, but in the forest. Shortly after that I did my first Ultra, the Mountain Masochist 50-miler in Virginia. I had a blast training for and finishing that first Ultra. Since then I have had the great fortune of doing a bunch of other Ultras; a few 50ks a handful of 40 and 50 milers and I completed my first 100 mile ultra in 2018. Running has brought great balance and wonderful friendships into my life, both of which I am thankful for.
“But why would anyone run that distance? What is wrong with you? Are you mental?!” Articulating what I enjoy about running ultra distances is somewhat difficult. It has something to with the camaraderie of the other nut jobs that set their alarms at 4:30am to get up to run 25 miles with me, then maybe go to a show that I’m playing that night. It’s about doing something that I didn’t think was possible. It’s about being in so much pain that I don’t think I can take one more step, but then I do. Then another. And then another. And all of a sudden my life is the simplicity of movement and the footsteps of my companions.