Freedom With Fear — What Running Teaches Me (100 Mile Ultramarathon Training)
After a year off of running due to injury, subsequent life, doing some important inner work, else. I did that thing when you lose the thing you love. I hid it from all of my conscious awareness, stopped reading my favourite books, following my favourite people, watching documentaries, the constant ever satisfying quest of curiosity — to understand: how? How does one run for so far, and so long? The endless dance with the mind, sensations, feelings, doubt, fear. I shoved a life bursting curiosity, passion, enthusiasm and deep knowing ‘this is for me’ and ‘these are my people’ — into a small, black box. Convinced I’d never be able to enter it again, due to injury. I sort of lost my way with it.
Well, yesterday was a total eureka moment for me.
I’m now right at the start of a solid 348 days 13 hours and 24 minutes (or something like that) — training block. And my old coach, and more than that, tea-drinking, planet saving, activist, quite a good runer too — Damian Hall, is doing all the braining’s and coaching me. I am so excited.
I am going to attempt to run 100 miles next September. GB Ultra’s Snowdon 100. 6000m of elevation, else. Ouchies. After not quite completing my goal at my first attempt of the last 100 — and after opening back up the box of love that I’d forced myself away from in heavy denial, it grew and grew and grew. I must run 100 miles. Cliche as it may sound, this wasn’t from my mind. This wasn’t from the ever changing smaller and separate versions of ‘me’. This was from deep inside. It never left.
I’ll never be able to properly articulate how getting into ultrarunning — changed my life. From a life of suffering, tension and consistently wrestling with and at times being taken down, with fear — to a life of freedom from all of that, and freedom with all of that, and freedom to all of that. It was an enforced way for me to be, with — me. To learn how to dance the ever-present dance of the waves, the noise, the movement. The doubt, the fear, the frustration, the angst, the haste — what is beyond that? I didn’t want to run 50 miles with music ‘getting me through’. I wanted to dive deep into the exploration of what exactly is on the other side of fear? And every-time I’ve had the courage to investigate — it’s always, always been: freedom. I wanted to meet myself. And, I did. Many times. Many, many times. But you can only meet yourself when you lose yourself. And for me, suffering has been, and is always, the signal.
Back to the Eureka moment.
Friday, I had a 5 mile run. Did the do. Saturday, had a 10 mile hilly trail run programmed. And, so I did.
As I was driving to the trail, I had my headphones sat in my car, staring at me. I’ll just take them incase. No. They are staying here. I must run 10 miles without any bloody distraction. I need to. I must. I’d spent 2 years intentionally training myself to run for 110k without the incessant stream of constant outer movement. I do this not to finish, not for time, not for accolade — but to meet myself. To remind myself. To explore myself. To unify myself with the ever infinite and eternal consciousness (Joke... But also, sort of not…).
It’s the deep, inner flow and satisfaction of trail running that I love, for me, the slowness, the decompression, the reconnection with nature, the overcoming of my own inner-limitations, the space, the room, the disconnection. I left them in the car, and the headphones, and off I went. Alongside the “I won’t need any water (stupid) and I won’t need any fuel (stupid)” — knowing full well I will, but just, well — doing nothing about it. Lol. Some things never change.
6 miles in, after a lot of climbing and stumbling and falling around in a slippy, sloping and hilly as fuck (and very beautiful) forest — legs are tired, and this pang of doom hits. Not quite the pang of doom, that’s a little dramatic. More, a stream of doubt (why is this so hard?), haste (I want this to be over), fear (what if I just can’t do this anymore?), and mainly, I would find — resistance (I don’t like that this is hard), and the subtle sense that this is hard, therefore I am wrong.
I figured, although I’ve only ran 6 miles, I’m probably a little tired from a heavy strength session yesterday, and an evening 5 mile run (although this was still a “I shouldn’t be” because of my previously and now frustratingly set high expectations of when ‘tired’ should be) — and, I have another 4 miles to go, maybe I just need some food. And some water.
I wouldn’t quite consider this bonking. I’m not sure it’s possible to bonk (for you non-runners, no, that doesn’t mean that) after a moderate-ish should’ve have been ‘easy’ hour of running. But either way, beyond science and reasoning, I had the sense that I needed some fuel, at the very least; to not feel like shit.
I headed out of the trail, towards town. Running past my car, with the immense urges amongst the inner conflict and frustration and discomfort and despair (just kidding, not quite despair) to grab my headphones. With 10 million reasons why that would be okay. And sure, it would be okay, there is no shame or guilt alongside enjoying music or a podcast and or, wanting some external assistance to ‘get you through’. But for me — that’s not my training. That’s not why I’m here. To run 100 miles, to run for likely 40 hours in the mountains, through darkness, dawn, dusk and the scaries (and the rest), I need more than the comfort of the external. And anyway, for me at least, whilst music ‘helps’ in the moment, it often gives me too much of a ‘high’, which then leads to a low, and then, well — I’m sure you can see the problem. Slow, sustained, steady and centred. The impulsive part of me that wants the discomfort over NOW, wants the relief. The bigger part of me, me, wants to dance with it, go beyond it, shelter amongst the storm but not scream into the wind asking it to stop. The wind will never stop if you ask. Nor will it stop if you don’t.
I bombed myself into the local co-op, covered in forest, and probably, admittedly, not smelling ideal — and bought some water-melon sugar sweet things (delicious) and some water.
I now felt a bit sick, immensely tired and just ‘off’ (now realising.. P…M…S…?). Maybe I am bonking (not like that, I don’t think it can be accidental (?)? Maybe I’m exhausted? I’ve ran 6 bloody miles. Physiologically, this is not happening. This is not warranted under Tim Noakes. Just eat. Just eat. The resistance to eating, was about 12/10. I think I’ll just be sick? With the inner chaos occurring, I ran out of the co-op (paid for my food, don’t worry), necked some water, and forced these sweets into my god-damn mouth, whilst, weirdly, giggling.
Well, let’s see if I throw up! Busy street, cars everywhere, my insides feeling very less than ideal. Surrender to it, and get it down, and keep, moving. I know, I didn’t think a 10k could be so inspiring either (joke).
I sat (ran) with it, soon enough, felt great. Sugar, water and too; recognising the immense resistance I had to my experience. I was suffering not because:
I feel tired.
My stomach is uncomfortable.
But because:
I feel tired AND THEREFORE WHY THIS SHOULDN’T BE I AM WRONG I CAN’T DO IT I’M SO SILLY EVERYONE HATES ME WHY DO I DO THIS HOW ON EARTH WILL I EVER DO IT MAYBE THIS IS A MID-LIFE CRISIS
My stomach is uncomfortable AND THEREFORE I’M GOING TO SHIT MYSELF IN THE MIDDLE OF TOWN (even though, mostly was in a forest) AND WHY IS IT UNCOMFORTABLE WHY DON’T THEY HAVE ANSWERS WHY IS MY STOMACH ALWAYS FUCKED WHAT IS THIS WHY AM I HERE WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME
(note: slight dramatic effect, but you get the vibe)
And then, the icing on the cake: resistance to it all.
Do what you need to do, and then let go of the rest. Aka, eat, drink some water, and then let go of the need to make anything else different. Let the mind do what it’s been conditioned and designed to do. Let the body do what it knows it needs to do. Let the sensations arise and dissipate. And I just run.
And, the eureka and immense self-assured moment, being: the recognition of this, the allowing to embrace all of this, the stepping back, the stopping identifying with the attempts at trying, fixing, judging — discomfort, yes, suffering, no.
And funnily enough, the waves soon troughed. And I felt fine. But the lesson and huge reminder: go inwards, not out.
It’s so invitingly encouraged in these moments, in running, or in life, to avoid discomfort and to run away from fear at all costs. To continually fill and feed that void with extra stuff, in the hope of getting rid of the core pain. I did that, I’ve done that, I’d argue I spent a large proportion, if not all, of my life doing that. It’s exhausting, and it hurts. And the lack of centredness in onself, constantly needing everything else, is oh-so tiring. I can’t live like that. And I won’t.
I’ve always craved the hardship of simplicity. The endurance of natural time. There’s an inner completion I feel when I am aligned with the making of the thing. It’s like my being, brain & system slows with it. It’s just you, the rawness of being a human, the hostility and deep beauty of landscape, and all that comes with it. Raw, humanness. And everything, everything within that.
But in these moments, it feels like jumping off a cliff, or head first into a fire. Going in and towards, and not out and away, often feels death like. And so we perpetually go out, forgetting what it means to be a human, with the innate grit and knowing of survival, overcoming, self-transcendence.
Go through, not away. And it always dissipates. And if it doesn’t, I learn to run with it, and I see; it was just a wave. It was always just a wave. That or I need to eat. Which is what today’s was: nothing poetic, just good ol’ bonking. Can’t beat a bit of bonking. Bonking honking bonking.
Anyway. Words sometimes make things more confusing, especially when explaining something that is rather indescribable.
Either way: I’m excited to begin this next year of a journey. And to dance, the dance.
:)
