time to pretend.

My social media circle is crackling with excitement and fraught with anxiety.

Long hours of training, strategizing, and preparing have led up to race day and now it's time to see what the shaping, reshaping, and honing has wrought.

Friends are excited.  Friends are worried.  Friends are brimming with confidence or drowning in doubt, in some cases brimming with confidence AND drowning in doubt.

I am not brimming, nor am I drowning.  I am strangely calm and nearly numb.

Not because I am supremely confident (I am not) and not because I am particularly sure that I will fail (I don't believe I will).

As my race has approached, I have told myself that I am excited and asked myself if I'm ready to go or worried about the outcome and, honestly, I haven’t gotten much confirmation that I am excited or, frankly, much of a response at all.

Calmness.  Numbness.

With all that has transpired over the last year and all the real life challenges that I've experienced, witnessed, or have learned of others facing, to suggest that voluntarily running a race, even one of great length, extreme obstacle, and (apparently) less than ideal weather conditions...to suggest that it matters all that much would just be pretending and pretending unconvincingly.

Not to say that I am NOT looking forward to the Eastern States 100.

I am.

It doesn't mean that I am NOT super enthused to gather with the tribe again, share our individual stories, and write new ones together.

I absolutely am.

And NOT to say that the prospect of being out and on-the-move for 30+ hours in high temperatures, soaring humidity, and predicted powerful storms isn't daunting.

It is.

But....

At this moment of my limited time on the planet, the “larger than life” narrative of running ultra distances is, well, nowhere near as large as life much less larger.  The ability to engage in aerobic activity that includes or transforms fully into physical discomfort or even pain is the privilege of those who are not weak, are not terminally ill, are in possession of the true luxury of leisure time, are among the living.  That realization lets a lot of air out of the ultra running balloon, but not nearly as much air as being weak, being terminally ill, not having leisure time, or not drawing breath takes out of life itself.

At no point during a race is my life at risk.  Even if failing to take proper care of myself nudges me in that direction, simply stopping alleviates the threat.  I have direct say in how at risk my life is when many do not.

Failing to reach the finish line won't bring life screeching to a halt any more than triumphantly crossing that same finish line will much improve my post-race existence.

It's amazing the trivial things that we elevate to such great heights and equally amazing the not-so-trivial things that we disregard or take for granted.

My legs will be tired and my feet will hurt.  Sounds nice to have legs that are tired and feet that hurt must think those that have neither.

My stomach will likely rebel and empty itself or refuse to be filled.  And then when the race is over, I'll eat as much as I want of whatever I want and my stomach will cooperate.  I will not go hungry and I will not be sick.  Others will go hungry, will be sick, as they have for as long as they can remember and as far into the future as they are able to imagine.

My distance to travel will diminish and in the end will be reached and should I fail to cover the desired distance on foot, I will get a ride to some other vehicle that waits to whisk me away to the comfort and safety of my home.  Guaranteed and never, ever in doubt.  Unlike those without a home or a means to get to where they wish to go or away from where they desperately need to be no more.

My mind will falter, will bend, and perhaps even break momentarily, but rest and sleep will return its faculties.  My brain will not cease to function, will not be damaged, or require parts of it to be removed.

No, I have not lost my want to physically challenge myself nor have I lost my admiration and respect for anyone who willingly takes on an endeavor that asks her or him to strive, to progress, to move, move, move!  I will forever cheer on friends and strangers alike and will laugh, tearfully, as they attain their goals and overcome those things that appeared to stand in the way of their progression.  I will continue to attempt the same and will shed tears and roar with laughter for my own efforts.

But...

I have known true sadness and had some that lay dormant dredged back to the surface.  I've known anxiety and worry over matters that really matter.  Seen others’ health deteriorate, their finances vanish, even entire foundations of life crumble beneath them.  I've whispered goodbyes, wailed goodbyes, sometimes too late to have them heard.  I have felt truly powerless, BEEN truly powerless to right wrongs and save others from pain and sorrow.

All of which makes me human, none of which makes me unique.

Running and finishing (or not finishing) a race is full of symbolism and the before, during, and after are rich with life lessons.  Rich with lessons about life. But it isn’t life and shouldn't be mistaken or misrepresented as such.

It is play.  It is joyful, privileged play, but it is still pretend.

And so I am calm and nearly numb.

And for the better part of two days this weekend, I will embrace the absence from reality and the privilege of not worrying about anything that really matters for a short while.

I will play and I will smile, and laugh, and likely cry.

Time to pretend.

all ears.

Five years ago today, I handed my camera over to an accommodating intern for Live! with Regis and Kelly just outside of the show's green room and she snapped the photo above.

A few hours earlier on that Monday morning, I'd driven through the Lincoln Tunnel, found a parking spot that would provide quick escape later in the day, and then walked 20-some blocks through a strangely vacant predawn Times Square and up Broadway to the ABC studios building located just west of Central Park.

The entire weekend had been a blur of non-stop laughter, drinking and, well, mayhem.  I had been joined by 5 friends on Saturday morning for the drive to Brooklyn where we met up with two more friends for a bit of pre-gaming before the 2009 NYC Beard & Moustache Championships.

That would be my second beard competition and the attention it garnered was a study in contrast from the relaxed, informal family affair experienced at the first competition I attended.  Actually, I had an absolute blast at both events , but the two were strikingly different. If you love live music, it's a lot like trying to compare a great no-expenses-spared stadium production to an intimate performance in a small club.

Long story short, that night in Brooklyn was full of pyrotechnics and the invitation to be a guest of Regis two days later was just one more strange but beautiful explosion in a night full of awesome fireworks.

By Monday morning, I had driven back-and-forth between home and New York City twice, logged about 8 total hours of sleep, and was still trying to wrap my head around all that had happened.  There's a lot I don't remember about that weekend (and much I don't dare put into print) or that surreal visit with Mr. Philbin and Ms. Ripa (and Drew Carey who warmly met us three beardos as we exited the stage), but I vividly remember the comaraderie and the many last-forever friendships that were forged in fleeting moments and short periods of too little shared time.

Which, at last, brings me to how and why this post is appearing in a blog for-the-most-part devoted to running.

I ran and finished my first ultra, the New River 50K, in October of that very same year.

When Jefferson and I had ventured to Oil City for the WPBMA beard championships back in the Fall of 2008, I knew no one in the world of "bearding" and had little idea of what to expect at a beard competition.  That same story held true when I picked up my bib and headed to the starting line of that first 50K.  I had run my fair share of 5Ks, 5-milers and 10K races, but nothing longer than that and I didn't know (or didn't know that I knew) anyone who had run any distance longer than 26.2 miles.  Not off road, that's for sure.

Well, what I discovered is that the people growing out their beards and thinking up works of art constructed from what they'd grown were just as welcoming as the loonies who weren't interested in going out for a run unless it was longer, sometimes MUCH longer, than the marathon distance that the rest of the world seemed to hold up as the ultimate test of endurance.

So, both bearders and ultrarunners are crazy, right?

Maybe.

And while crazy is a tag rather eagerly embraced by both parties, I'd argue that once you pitch aside the most obvious and arguably eccentric source of expression for either, the participants are as diverse a mix of sane or nearly sane people as any other group.

Both subcultures are fond of group shots, that's for sure.

Photo courtesy of Fayetta Schwanger

Or maybe they aren't.  I certainly am and, having been absorbed wholly into both cultures, perhaps I have just had good luck in coercing my pals into smiling for the camera.

I'm ok with that and send belated thanks for the humoring.

I love these team photos not because I am much of a "joiner".  I'm not.  But, I sure do love having documents to evidence shared company while doing some of the activities I enjoy most, especially when those happenings forged so many new friendships and further strengthened those friendships that already existed.

Were it just about the activities and not the relationships built around those activities, I may have drifted on to other things.  Novelty can wear off in time.

The fact that someone let his (or her) facial hair grow untamed can be a surprisingly effective icebreaker and, in certain circles, it basically ensures immediate acceptance.  It's a pretty flimsy foundation for a long-term relationship, however, and let the conversation stray from beards and you may soon find that you and your new aquaintance have got one and only one thing in common and it isn't going to prove to be a tie that binds.  Or shouldn't be.

Same with running.

If I spend a few hours running with someone and the topic of conversation never strays from race results, training tips and the upcoming ultra events calendar, I start daydreaming about how much I like running alone.

I hear people talk all the time about "all" ultrarunners this and "everyone" in the bearded community that and, frankly, it makes me cringe.  I've been guilty of it myself and wish that were not the case.  I love black-and-white photos, but only because they aren't actually black-and-white at all, but endless shades of grey enhanced with beautiful brushstrokes of light and shadow.

It actually strikes me as counterproductive to broadly proclaim that everything about and everyone engaged in your favorite hobby is "the best", suggesting in a way that anyone not running far or not letting their razors rust are somehow lessers or, at the very least, out of the loop.  That's just not necessarily the case and I would argue that anyone taking such a stance is the one missing out.

If nothing else, I encourage you to dig a little deeper.  Share a bit of yourself that isn't about what time you posted or intend to post at Western States.  You may be sporting quite the finely shaped Garibaldi that I'm sure will prove quite competitive at Worlds, but...what...else...can...you...tell...me...about...yourself.  I'd like to know.

Come out of character and let yourself be known and, while you're at it, spend a minute learning something about the people around you.

I've been blessed to meet some quite accomplished runners and beardsmen.  I marvel at their talents and what they've done with those talents.  But, if and when a scratch beneath the surface reveals little else, that talent isn't enough to hold my interest.  Thankfully, I have discovered that many of the folks you meet during races or while climbing onto a stage together to have your beards judged possess far more depth and have incredible stories to tell if you just allow the conversation get there.

I thank my two seemingly unrelated hobbies for having introduced me to so many amazing individuals, but I could honestly care little about how much running or bearding factors into the time I spend in the future with these fine people.

It's just not all that important if they make any more podiums or even reach another finish line.  I won't think the less of him (or her) if the next Best Full Beard Natural award is given to someone else.  What I will strive to be is the first in line to celebrate real life milestones, offer condolences for losses, laugh along, and just plain be there.  And I know that should I (gasp) shave or hang up my shoes once and for all, I can expect they'll be there for me too.

photo courtesy of iRunFar.com

Photo courtesy of Trevor Cranmer

Photo courtesy of Jo Weakley Agnew

Photo courtesy of Greg Petliski

Thank you, genuinely, to the many of you who have allowed me to be me and in turn given me the chance to truly know who you are.

And to those of you who I haven't yet met, be forewarned that even though my mouth can run a lot faster than my legs, I listen too and hope you give me a chance to hear your stories.

thank you card.

The following post is actually I note I'd typed up for a friend who suffered an IT band injury at mile 24 of his first 50-mile race (a distance I hope to attempt and finish next year), the Mountain Masochist Trail Run (MMTR) held in the wilds of Virginia.  Despite the injury and its providing him with an excuse (a REASON, I'd say) to not go on, he DID, walking the remaining 26+ miles to eventually finish under the cutoff time.

As I was composing this message of well wishes, I realized that what I had to say TO my friend also had quite a lot to say ABOUT my overall thoughts on long-distance trail running and the passion that it inspires in me.  Hopefully, he doesn't mind me sharing this with any and all who wish to read it.

How are you feeling a week removed from race day? I hope at least your mind is in the right place and you can already see the light at the end of recovery's tunnel.

I've gotta tell you, top 10 (and better) finishes are extremely impressive and always will be, but fighting through what you fought through last Saturday is seriously awe-inspiring. I do not know you well, but I'm not b.s.-ing when I say that your effort and your willingness to share the experience in all its details makes me proud to know you; proud OF you.

So much of the spell that ultra-running has cast on me was embodied in your day, most notably the overcoming of obstacles, refusing to say "this is too much" AND accepting and embracing the accomplishment in "just" finishing even when the time on the clock isn't what you'd intended. It's a perspective I struggle to keep in my everyday life but that on the trail seems the only acceptable one to those of us who subject ourselves to rough terrain, long courses and the many, many minutes required to cover that ground.

The personal challenge I've proposed is finding a way to carry it into the workplace, to bring it back home and remember that, cliche or not, winning really is NOT everything. Nearly everyday I fail to meet that challenge BUT I'm going to keep on working, continue striving to get there (and stay there).

Shared stories like yours from the MMTR are powerful and inspiring reminders. I, for one, greatly appreciate your running testimony as the gift that it is and thank you for it.

Be well, my friend.  Heal fast and fully. Those trails aren't going anywhere BUT they are anxiously waiting for your return.

a humbling but beautiful day at blue marsh.

Today the 6th annual Blue's Cruise 50K was held at the Blue Mark Lake recreational area in Berks County, Pennsylvania.  This would be my second traversal of 31.1 miles and, like my first 50K, this was again an out-and-back course, requiring a run "out" of just over 15 miles, a turn around and a 15 mile run "back".

I took my camera but never bothered to take it from the car.  The weather was so beautiful that I just wanted to take it all in without pinning myself behind a lens.  Once the race began I wouldn't want to be saddled with a camera anyway and by the time I returned to the finish line I'd have little on my mind except hydration, sleep and painkillers.

I'm not going to give a full race report because, frankly, I'm too tired at the moment and don't want to wait to put up this post.  I do want to say how impressed I was with the race host, The Pagoda Pacers, a long-standing running group based in Reading, Pennsylvania.  I can't remember a start/finish line where everything felt so under control, so un-frantic.  The aid stations were numerous, enthusiastic and skillfully run.  If I weren't intent on getting to the end, I might have just started making random requests, as it seemed like each station had anything and everything a runner could think to ask for.  Least importantly but still impressive, the race swag was a high-quality zip-up Blue's Cruise 50K 2010 running jacket.

The course had been pounded by the tropical depression-induced storms that swept over the East Coast in the days prior but with weather breaking cool (50's/60's) and clear, the track wasn't nearly as sloppy as one might've expected.  I'd read and heard that the course was flat and there were certainly extended sections that were pretty featureless, but there were also numerous, if modest, elevation changes along the way with a pretty steep up and over climb starting around 10.5 miles that was even more challenging when you hit the other side of the slope coming back at 19.5 miles.

As for me, I was happy with the way I covered the first half of the course, especially considering that I hadn't logged nearly the quantity or quality of long runs that I should have for a race of this distance.  However, the combination of the poor training and an arch injury suffered fairly early in the race that bothered me more and more as the miles piled up turned my sub-9 minute mile pace into something far slower for most of the return trip.  Shortly after the turnaround I actually thought that a "Did Not Finish" was likely as the arch was really giving me trouble.  Thankfully, willpower and an eventual dulling (or psychological numbness) set in and found me running quicker miles over the last 3 miles than I'd managed through the 2nd third of the race.  Maybe I was just striving for the siren song of the finish line.

The final few hundred miles, after a couple of short late uphills, follow a downslope to the finish and I really enjoyed running that stretch knowing that I'd shook off some serious "call it a day" demons to get there.  I'd been running at a pace earlier that morning that had me daydreaming of a solid sub-5 hour time but by early afternoon I was thrilled at the prospect of getting in 15 minutes shy of 6 hours.

My calves (as evidenced in the photo below) and upper thighs were cramping but thankfully not in a crippling fashion.  Though I barely remember it, I apparently had a smile to offer as the finish line loomed.

Photo by Bill Reynolds

And I'm still smiling now as I sit on the couch with my legs kicked up, typing this bulletin and icing my arch.

redefinition.

Sometimes you see something that makes you rethink what is possible.  In the world of sport, moments like these aren't uncommon, but some stand out more than others.  I wasn't yet walking the earth, but Bob Beamon's long jump in Mexico City, I'm assuming, fell into the stratospheric category.  Usain Bolt's shattering of the 100-meter record just a few short years ago certainly hit the mark.  In both of these instances, the sheer athleticism was staggering and evident to any who bore witness.

What really impacts me, however, are not these singular moments, these small windows in time.  For me, it's demanding feats of utter endurance, arguably of survival, that hit me the hardest.  This week provided at least two of these examples (feel free to inform me of others), the first of which came from the unlikely arena of tennis.

At Wimbledon, the relatively unheralded John Isner and Nicholas Mahut carved out their respective places in history with a tennis match that carried on for over 11 hours and resulted in more games played than I can bring myself to type.  I'd attempt to go into greater detail, but I couldn't dare do the match justice AND Ross Tucker of the blog The Science of Sport has gotten as close as possible to capturing the scope of the athletes' achievement: 

The Science of Sport - Isner vs. Mahut

A few days later in the High Sierras of California, runners toed the line at the start of the 37th Annual Western States Endurance Run, a 100-mile event that should garner respect for anyone who dares attempt much less complete it.  The field for the event was jam-packed with the brightest stars of ultra-running but the sheer demands of the course (absurd amounts of elevation gain, the thin altitude of 8700+ foot mountain passes, and highly-technical terrain) made Scott Jurek's course record time of 15:36:27 a daunting goal.

Right from the start, a blistering pace was set by four favorites, Colorado's Anton Krupicka, Alaskan Geoff Roes, Spaniard Killian Jornet Burgada and two-time defending champion Hal Koerner.

Ultra-running is traditionally a sport for those in their mid/late 30's and 40's, perhaps requiring the long, slow build of endurance and a psychological development to withstand the suffering.  Not only had Anton and Killian never competed in Western States, the dates on their birth certificates (26 and 22, respectively) seemed to suggest that they were at a disadvantage. At 34 years of age, Hal and Geoff better fit the template for ultra-running success.

Nevertheless, Anton and Killian pulled away from the pack prior to the middle of the race and kept adding to their shared lead, trading places at the front but hitting most of aid stations in tandem.  This continued through the 79.8 mile aid station which found them still maintaining a sub 9-minute mile pace.  Hal had bowed out of the race while Geoff lingered about 15 minutes behind.

Summoning astonishing reserves, Geoff began reeling in the leaders and, as Killian finally began to flag, he had only Anton to catch.  Over the last few checkpoints, Geoff drew within sight and eventually passed by Anton to cross the line in 15:07:04 nearly a half hour ahead of Jurek's former record!  Anton finished just 6 minutes back and still well ahead of Jurek's best time.

WS 100 photos by Carl Costas of The Sacramento Bee

It's unlikely that either man could have covered the distance without the other driving him on.  Every poet needs a muse and here's hoping that Usain Bolt finds one in the next year or two, so we can see what he's really got!

Again, my understanding of human endurance has been redefined.