Finding Purpose

The world is a wonderful place.  It can also be a living Hell.

Volumes have been written on why bad things happen to otherwise good people.  Spiritual folks take solace in saying God has a plan.  That Our Creator makes bad things happen for a reason.  He does not give to us what we cannot handle.  To hell with THAT!  What about children.  I could give examples of what I mean and dare you to find the plan.  But I digress.

That statement was the straw that broke my psyche once upon a time.  It broke one morning in a Sunday School   class.  Someone relayed the story of woman with borne with a physical limitation.   Apparently her existence was extremely difficult, but tempered by acceptance.  I story was recounted by someone I did not like anyway.  I snapped.  I shouted out my refusal to accept such condemnation by a Creator to a life of suffering for the sake of others.  My wife freaked out.  Fortunately I took steps and sought help.

Now, in this moment, after experiencing and confessing a very dark period I am caught in troubling thought. Was I meant to experience this. Is my willingness to write about my troubles a vehicle for raising awareness & understanding in others - whether they be sufferers or onlookers.

I lashed out and raged against this very notion, that we are given flaws and sacks of crap to make us stronger.  To be an example and strengthen.  I hated the idea of suffering so others could grow.  Again, not all suffering sows the seed of healing.

I still question why people take comfort in being an imperfect copy of an infallible being. Why would a/the maker intentional screw up a manufactured product unless it is meant for a consumer based economy.  To be used up and tossed out.  What is to rejoice in that?

Why build a flaw into the system?

To make us weak?  

To leave us vulnerable?  

To cause us to be afraid?

No.  Thank. You.  

I can accept my flaws as the randomness of nature.  Nothing intelligent in my design.  My life has certainly been bereft of intelligence. Ha!

I will accept my flaw so long as I am able to tell the story.  Based on the response, there is power in sharing this experience.  Many people run for causes - cancer, homelessness, disaster relief.  I may have found my cause.

What's Up, Doc?

I like carrots. 

I find them tasty. Especially with hummus. Yet they are not always my first choice when looking for a snack. Something else may seem more appealing at the time, even when all I need are a few carrots to feel satisfied.

However, a carrot is not always a carrot.  Sometimes it is more than a simply snack.  On occasion a carrot is more that a mere garden vegetable.  A carrot becomes more when that carrot is...

An Ultra Marathon.

My carrot is the next ultra.  Turning this exercise fad, this passing fancy, this wild-eyed pursuit into a lifestyle is my ultimate goal.  Along with the titles husband, son, father, and friend, I want to be known as an ultra runner.  Not for reasons of ego or excess, but as a statement of what I am.  So that people will know I do not make commitments lightly.  That I follow through.  That I pursue to the last.  That I do not give up.

For the uninitiated, endurance training is a selfish endeavor.  Participation in endurance events is an expensive pastime.  Unfortunately time and money are held in excess here.  If you know then you know.

However, the carrot that is ultra running will give me an extra push when work sucks and the life gets tough.  Giving my best efforts personally and professionally will make toeing the starting line so much sweeter.  I will tackle the tough days with the same tenacity I found on the trail, to endure, to overcome, to persevere.

***Race Schedule Update - My next race will be the Cactus Rose 100mi in Bandera, Texas this fall.  The humbling aspect of selecting this race this early is that I received an anonymous donation toward travel expenses.  I am still shocked.  Finishing that course would be the best thank you I can bestow.

I Am an Ultrarunner! - Chapter Three/The End is Here

The clock said 10:45 pm as I strode out of camp for the fifth time.  Little did I know what lay on the trail ahead.  Had someone asked me if I were prepared for what unfolded on this loop I would have said no, but would have charged ahead anyway.  This is what I came for as Scott Jurek is known to say.  Pain was to be expected.  The physical is brutal, whether one chases a PR in a road 5k or is on a quest for a Boston Qualifier in a marathon.

What I find lacking in the shorter distances - yes, 26.2 miles is now short for me - is time to experience and deal with emotional challenges.  The marathon field can sweep you to the finish so long as you stay on your feet.  Running with hundreds or thousands or tens of thousands has that effect.  Hell, my BQ in February was due in part to the 3h10m pacer practically crawling up my back over the final 2/10 of a mile.

I did not have the luxury of a pacer yet.  Still on my own.  Lars, my pacer stopped by after my third loop to check on my times.  I felt the night would be fine but knew he would be necessary to cover the final twenty-five miles.  So the plan was to text him a time to show up for the final two loops.  Before Loop Five I sent a message asking that he show up a seven o'clock to begin number six.  Seemed reasonable enough given that my knee was looser.  Unfortunately that loose easy feeling would not last.  

In fact any chance at feeling good evaporated in the night before I escaped the glow of the campfire.

From the first true step into this loop my right knee felt worse that before.  I find that any attempt to describe the pain in the joint is sadly insufficient.  While I speculated about the nature of the injury earlier in the day, I was not completely aware of what it was - ITB.  

Iliotibial Band Syndrome.

Fuck.  Me.  

Hard.

I have experienced knee pain before.  This was an entirely different kind of hell.  The mud was not a bother.  The cold was not a problem.  The very fact that I was still on the course was the issue.  Any downgrade was excruciating.

I shall apologize now to any and all ITB sufferers for my April Fools Day joke.  Very poor decision.  Bad karma.  Rotten mojo.

I knew I was screwed when the first aid station was not reached in less than 90 minutes.  Of course it was nearing midnight and I needed to be careful, but I had sufficient light from my headlamp.  I just could not make steady headway with the knee.  It took two hours to reach aid station #1.  

By the time I reached the point that I assumed was halfway I was three hours into the loop.  It is obvious that I am on a six hour trip.  The wheels are officially off.  My mind begins to reel.

The problem with being alone is I have no one to distract me.  No calming voice to talk me down from the ledge.  No one to say it will be OK.  Even the iPod has lost its appeal.  I was entering a very low place.

So the pain of the knee was causing me to stop dead every few minutes.  I didn't know how to stretch the ITB so I just kept walking.  Stopped went the pain got too much and started again once it subsided.  It was in the final three hours that I really broke down.

I chose this race for numerous reasons, some of which I'll go into later.  All of which seemed extremely valid prior to leaving for Portland.  They all remained valid once I was on the trail.  But only one reason kept me moving.

My wife.

Without Andria this trip would not have been possible.  Without her a great many things would not be possible.  Life without her is one of my greatest fears.  The emotional dam burst when I played out the call home.  The knee would make one hundred miles impossible.  Stopping short would be a failure.  In my mind at least.  Not getting that buckle would make this trip a waste of time.  Anything less than one hundred miles would be a colossal waste of money.  Everything had been built up in my mind to get that trophy.  It would validate everything.  Even if you don't understand what the buckle represents you know the buckle means something B-I-G.  Now I would have to explain to Andria why I had to quit.

To quit...

Something I am all too familiar with...

Quitting is one reason I went to Port Gamble.  To learn how not to quit...

Every time the thought of talking with Andria entered my head I doubled over in pain.  Imagine the worst stomach cramps possible.  However this pain was not physical.  Sure, the knee continuously reminded me it still connected two leg bones together (the first person to point out my error in anatomy will get a personalized Fuck You via FedEx overnight shipping) and continued to be overwhelming.  But the emotional pain was something else entirely.  I always stopped quickly though, fearful that another runner would appear from the darkness and crash my little party.

I'll say now that other than at the two aid stations I never saw another soul from the moment I left camp till I returned.  That is a long time to be alone in emotional misery.  Granted, Aron Ralston was in a much deeper situation when he cut his arm off, but dammit, this is my moment.

Combine the physical pain of the knee and the emotional anguish in my mind with the absolute dreadful nature of the loop's back half.  The gravel jeep road winded on and on after the second aid station.  There were not many landmarks so I could never gauge how far I had to go, other than rough guesstimates based on time.

I did find a distraction in the form of a jigsaw puzzle.  The race - this was no longer a race but rather an ordeal meant to be endured - had scattered before me and needed to be pieced together if I were to get out whole.  Time to assess everything:

• My knee was shot.  The thought of repeating three more loops in my condition made me want to vomit.  Thankfully I did not.
• I was running out of time.  If the fifth loop were to take five to six hours then I would blow past the mandatory cut off and be unable to finish the 100 miles, regardless of my physical condition.  My current pace projected out to six hours for the loop.  I would come in around 400am.  With stops for rest after each loop I would require another eighteen hours to earn the buckle.  From four o'clock I would have only fourteen hours till the cut off.  I might successfully beg for an extra hour... or two.  But four or more hours would be unreasonable.
• This loop would give me one hundred kilometers for the weekend.  Roughly sixty-three miles.  No further loops would mean anything in the context of recognition by the race organizers.
• I was freezing.  The forecast called for clearing skies by dawn, which would certainly warm me up, but the drop in temperature only made the joint pain worse.

A decision had to be made and lived with.  It actually was pretty rational in the end.  One can say I quit at Mile 57.  I simply had to walk another six miles through swampy and hilly trails to tell someone.

Being rational did not make the final few hours any easier.  In fact it became more difficult.  I just wanted out. I was ready to be done.  But I still wanted to go so much further.  Slowly I picked my way through the final single track.  While still on the gravel road I turned around thinking I had missed the turn in the darkness.  Fatigue did set in over the final hour.  I was peeing constantly.  It was the only thing keeping me awake really.

I began to make my way through that last swamp.  The downgrades hurt.  The water was cold.  The idea of stopping did not feel any better.  Then I stood at the base of the final climb.  Up and over and I would be done.  I remembered the second time I passed this way on Saturday morning.

I was with another runner, another ultra virgin.  He was largely unsupported except for one buddy at camp.  He said his friend might pace him for one loop but wasn't sure.  He had run one marathon I think and was underdressed for the day, but was willing to go as long as possible.  He even admitted he wasn't sure what to expect.  

Here's a secret, even the veterans sometimes have no clue what to expect.

I don't recall his name, so I am clueless as to how he finished.  I really hope he got that buckle, although I don't think so.  At any rate, on that second loop he was lagging behind as I neared the crest of the final hill.  As soon as I saw that camp I called back that we were back and raced in.  I never saw him again.

The climb now was extremely rough.  Aside from the knee I knew this was the end.  I still had yet to accept the finality of it all.  Still fitting the puzzle pieces together in my head.  That would take the rest of Sunday to sort out.  All I could think about was the pain of quitting.  Giving up.  Killing the dream of having the buckle handed to me.  Instead that fucking Lumberjack was handing me my ass.  On a plank.  Full of splinters.  Damn you Lumberjack.  There is no humor in these words.

When I finally crested that hill, maybe no more than a tenth of a mile away from the camp, I broke down again.  The spasmodic waves of emotion washed over me.  There were fits of fear, anxiety, terror, shame, self-loathing...  Whatever you can think of to cripple the mind at a moment like that, I experienced it.  The seconds passed by like hours to get back in camp.  I pulled off my red blinker light.  I heard Jodi call out in the stillness that she may have seen me.  So I turned off my headlamp.  I needed these last few minutes alone.

Finally I straighten up, held my head high, or as high as possible, and dragged my ass to the finish line.

As I approached the timer's table I called out:

Bib #1852...

Fifth loop completed for one hundred kilometers...

I'm done...

Coming soon - Chapter Four/Final Thoughts & Reflections

Previous installments - Chapter One/Arrival & Departure

                                     Chapter Two/Chasing the Lumberjack

I Am an Ultrarunner! - Chapter One/Departure & Arrival

Yes.  Yes I am.

If I ended this post with that statement I would disappoint a great many of you.  Truthfully I sum up the weekend with the title of this post and be satisfied.  Like after Thanksgiving dinner.  But there is a story to tell.  I have been overwhelmed by how many of you have come along for the ride, even those of you who ran in Boston on Monday.  Even in my darkest moment my thoughts to many of you individually.  Thank you for running with me in spirit.

*WARNING* This will be a detailed report.  Everything will be included. *WARNING*

Thursday morning the family broke habit and stopped for breakfast on the way school - me, Andria and the kids.  I really wanted to spend a moment with them before heading off on my adventure.  It was nice seeing them off to school with Andria for a change.  The trip to Charleston was uneventful, save for the stop for a sandwich for hitting the airport.  That morning I received a tee shirt via FedEx and immediately put it on.  When we walked in the restaurant I caught a dude in a silent chuckle and remembered the shirt.  It became the mantra for the weekend.

It was a long haul to Portland via Houston, TX.  One highlight was meeting a guy on the flight to Houston that once met Dean Karnazes and his parents at an event.  Finally limited into the hotel at 1am PT.  That would be 4am for my East Coast body clock.

Friday was a whirlwind.  Debbie texted a time and location to meet up for the ride to Port Gamble.  I had time to kill and set out to acquaint myself with Portland.  Voodoo Doughnuts - yes, the "magic" is in the hole.  Hobos - hat is sadder than a homeless dog?  Not a stray dog, but rather a dog belonging to a homeless person.  Seems so much more disheartening.  Rain - lots of rain.  

Debbie found me at the Washington Park station and off we went to Trader Joe's for last minute provisions.  Then back to Washington Park for a 4 mile hike on muddy trails (with only one pair of jeans I wore that mud home to South Carolina).  From there Debbie's husband joined us for the ride out to Terri's house.  Terri agreed (for no other apparent reason than her love for Debbie) to drive Debbie, Jodi and myself to Port Gamble and work as our crew and backup pacer.  Debbie and I both planned to go the full 100 miles, Jodi jumped up to the 100mi only three days prior to leaving for the race.

Due to Friday afternoon traffic we left Portland 90 minutes late.  Terri's sweet new car was already on its way to being trashed.  And it was overstuffed.  Debbie and I shared the backseat.  However we could only see each other if we leaned into the front headrests.  Overstuffed.

Jodi reserved a hotel room (villas were not available. something about a tiger or cougar) and we settled in after a quick stop for sushi and a beer.

Saturday morning we were awake early and hit the Twitter pretty quickly.  We were at most 15 minutes away and quickly set out.  Camp still had to be set up.

Start/finish area.  Vrrrry wet.

Yes, a bear does shit in the woods.  Unless it wanders into camp.

Found high ground on the moor.  Surrounded by swamp on all sides.

The hill which runners approach the finish line is behind the truck at the right.

The finish line.

After setting up the camp, with the help of Dre, Debbie's Canadian friend, we ambled to camp HQ for pre-race instructions.  Fifty-five runners were there for 50mi, 100k or 100mi.  Race rules allowed entrants to drop back to a shorter distance if necessary (foreshadowing).  At eight o'clock the starter lady shouted something and we were off.

The course is a 12.5 mile loop.  It is a combination of gravel service road and single track trail.  Port Gamble in on the Puget Sound west of Seattle, WA.  And it was all wet. Rain had fallen for two weeks solidly.  Slop awaited us.

Coming soon - Chapter Two/Chasing the Lumberjack...

Rationalizing an irrational fear

I have a confession.  It will seem silly to many of you.  Some may understand.  Others may give me a puzzled look and say "Logan, with the fuck are you talking about?"  But it is me and what I have to deal with.

I have a fear of being awesome.  If I'm awesome then I have no excuses.  I am out of reasons for accepting failure.

When working in Columbia, SC years ago I was a supervisor.  We hired a guy, Gary, to work with me installing windows & doors in new construction housing.  He was in a halfway house for alcohol abuse and treatment.  Nice guy, real country, issues with the bottle.  His drivers license had been revoked so I picked him up & dropped him off at his place everyday.  Even took him to see his probation officer (for the DUI).

So after several months my boss & I were discussing staffing issues and talked about Gary and floated the idea of giving him more responsibility.  But he would need a DL.  Gary said there was a course required to get his DL reinstated.  My boss offered to pay for it.  Huge mistake.

Gary rarely missed worked.  Always had a valid reason or called if he missed work.  The day we offered help getting his DL back was the last time I ever saw him.

That night he stole a roommate's car.  Drove eighty miles one way across the state.  Came back through town then drove one hundred miles north of town to his hometown.  When he was caught and the car recovered Gary was drunk, swimming in a pond with a lady.

All of this violated his probation.  He returned to jail.  After being released a few months later he did call to apologize.  I didn't care.  My attitude was fuck him.  I needed Gary.  He shit on me.

Then I realized some time later we put to much pressure on him.  We exposed him to possibilities he was not ready to embrace.  So he sabotaged himself.  He was not ready for awesome.  I may not have put him in that stolen car or put the bottle to his lips, but I forced him out of a comfort zone.

I live the same pattern.  Without the jail visit of course.

I have found that running comes easily for me.  I've had to work for it.  It's not always easy in the moment, but over the long haul it gives back so much more then I could ever believe.

The fear is outside of running.  Real life.  Work.  Relationships.  Running one hundred scares me.  Not for the physical pain I am sure to experience.  I think I can handle the pain if I take breaks and talk myself through it.  What scares me will come after the run.  If I come through this weekend on my feet and complete the 100 I will have outrun my excuses.  Nothing will be in my way.  No more obstacles to being what I should be.

Excuses can be comforting.  We all use excuses.  I guess hitting this ultra, at this time, is my subconscious decision to deal with my reliance on excuses.

I had a curious moment last night.  Yesterday was full of anxiety.  Fear.  Dread.  Then a little thing did not happen that was a bigger deal than it should have been.  Very quickly I stepped up and resolved it.  And I had a moment of clarity.  Rather than being fearful of the pain and time and whatever else scares me about running one hundred miles I realized I am in control of my self.  I only have me to rely on (not totally, I will be part of a group - but you know what I mean).

I have to decide to drop the warm blanket of excuse.  I have to decide to be awesome.  I have to accept whatever consequences accompany that decision.

Doubt; On Climbing My Own Private Everest

Doubt is the great leveler.  Let doubt creep in and suddenly the probably becomes impossible.

Doubt crept in yesterday.  The door was left ajar by the exhaustion of the weekend.  And the excitement of doing things I had not tried previously.  And for milestones on the calendar.  One week from today I'll be in my post-ultra life.

A few months ago I bought an arm load of books to pass the time while not running.  I also am interested in writing styles.  Quite be accident I picked up two books - Into Thin Air and The Kid Who Climbed Everest - about expeditions to the "roof of the world".  Could not have been a more fitting way to build up to the Lumberjack Endurance Run.

Bear Grylls, on speaking of the South Col, the last camp before any push to Everest's summit, says that no amount of money or technology can get one to that point.  Above 26,000 feet helicopters are useless.  There are no roads so wheeled vehicles are not a consideration.  And while one needs the proper equipment to make the bid, supplemental oxygen, crampons, ice axes and the like do nothing without the will to use them.

The same goes for this coming weekend.  One could get in the car and drive one hundred miles.  But no one is handing out belt buckles for that.  Covering ground on foot by running or walking (or crawling) is the only way to achieve this goal.

This week is about battling the doubt.  I plan to run some, so I don't forget how.  Most of my packing is done.  I have to stay in the present some with the family and real life still in play - kids, school, dance.  Come Thursday and everything changes.

Thank you to everyone that has offered encouragement and support.  I appreciate your faith in my abilities.  My anxiety comes for not being able to fully express everything in my head and heart.  Sometimes I feel that because I cannot find words to flesh out these feelings I would if they are real or valid.  Non-runners don't get it.  Even short and middle distance runners look at me as if I am some sort of freak.  Experienced marathoners have questioned my sanity (I have done this as well).

My ultimate goal is not the belt buckle.  What I need to know is that when I have nothing left to give, and lay shattered and broken, I can find enough "something" keep moving.  It is either in me or not.  I have it at this moment or I don't.  There is no need to put it on the packing list for its not something I can simply forget at home on the coffee table.

I just hope I find it.  And have the fortitude to use it when I do.

You may ask "why run 100 miles?" if it is this debilitating emotional, not to mention physically.  Because I can't find what I seek in a book.  It's not on television or online.  This level of discovery is not available to me on a therapist's couch.  5k, 10k and marathons are not long enough to tear down and rebuild my spirit.

My spirit is in need of renovation.

This is why I run.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 14

Don't confuse safe with smart.

I have always played it safe.  Never smart.  That's why ultra running could be a could fit for me.  What is smart about running 50mi, 100mi, beyond 100mi?  Nothing.  Playing it safe in training, with hydration & fueling and walk breaks - that's where the smart comes in.

Your confidence in me is appreciated.

Your concern for me is warranted.

Your hopes and prayers for me are received.

As a dude said this week, all that's left to do is to 'not quit'.  He quit at the Barkley Marathons last week.  He knows when and why to quit.  But he's finished more often than he's failed (if quitting equals failure) so this dude is a trusted resource on the subject.

Based on my track record through life finishing the 100 should be easier than the not-quitting.  There is a difference.  Think about it.

Quitting is natural for me.  Not quitting is new.  At some point quitting may be smart.  Hell, it may be safe.  And it may be necessary.  One point to remember is that each step puts me closer to 'not quitting'.

***

Epilogue is Prologue - for all intents and purposes training is done.  It may not have gone the way I hoped.  I did only give myself eight weeks to prepare, but I have been running consistently at 60-70mi per week since July.  Some things did not get done, but no sense is crying about it.  The base is there.  Nothing to add to the mix this coming week but rest and organization and travel.

From Thursday afternoon through Tuesday night I will be on fumes.  The timezone change will assuredly mess with my mind as well as my body.  This is the first time I shall ever be west of the Rockies.  That alone will take a lot out of me.  Not to mention the whole 'running for hours and hours' thing.

Fortunately for some of you (wink nudge) I'll have limited internet access due mainly to available battery power on my mobile phone.  I do hope to communicate with any and all of you while on this great adventure.  I have dragged y'all along with me and see no reason to stop now.

Later next week I'll post my plan for udpating my progress during the Lumberjack.  It is a simple affair.  No fancy online tracking.  So if you care you will be able to follow my progress.  If not...  Why are you still reading this stupid shit if you don't care?  That's just dumb.

 - Logan


PS, There are times when people come into your life to bring new ideas or viewpoints for one to consider.  Whether to open up new possibilities or simply reflections of one's self.  Several of those persons have come into my life in the last year, each armed with great faith that I am capable of so much more than I ever would have given myself credit for.  To each of you I give thanks.  After LJ I promise to thank you directly and personally.

In preparing for my last marathon I created a dedication list with each mile given in thought to a single person or group of people that held a special place in creating "me".  Even now I realize I left some very important people off that last.  However, as I wind down my preparations for the Lumberjack there will be no list.  No miles or loops in dedication to others.  This run is about me, for me.  I will still think about all the people who have helped me reach this point in my running life.  I simple know that to finish this distance I have to run each step for me alone.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 13

Knowing when to say "enough".

While at dinner last night after viewing My Run, the conversation turned to racing and my upcoming foray into ultra marathons.  A friend asked "when is enough going to be enough?"  At first I thought she was referring to the long-term view of racing.  How many future ultras?  Actually the question was more about the immediate.  At what point during the hundred miles would I know it was time to stop?  What are the signs telling me to get off my feet before I'm on my back?

Of course my wife was a party to this conversation.  We returned to the topic on the way home.  She is afraid I will kill myself in pursuit of this goal.  I discussed my eating plan.  I discussed my hydration plan.  The course layout will never have me more than two miles from an aid station.*  If my handhelds go dry I won't have far to go for a refill.  And the run is outside Seattle so chances are it will be raining.  Like manna from heaven.

All the advice I have been given says that the challenge is all mental.  My body will ache.  The pain is unavoidable.  I will hurt of a long time.  The trick will be in pushing the pain aside and continuing to move forward, whether I run, shuffle, walk or crawl.

So I come back to the question of when I will know if I am "finished" before the finish.  It may be a physical breakdown.  The moment could come from a mental lapse.  I hope the wall does not collapse on me, but I have to accept that the wall begins to crumble from the very first step I take.  So the true race is not to the finish line and the belt buckle trophy.  Rather the true race is time and distance against my body and endurance.

I will not pick a number and predict "I shall be satisfied if...."  It will be very in-the-moment.  I believe I will know when I know.  My hope is that the knowing will come after the finishing.  After the eighth and final loop.

 - Logan

*Twelve mile loop with aid at the Start/Finish, Mile 4 and Mile 8.

I Am an Ultrarunner! Almost. Maybe. Part 12

Vision.

I am nearsighted.  Need corrective lenses - either glasses or contact lenses.  Usually I wear my contacts when running.  At night I need clear vision for things that lurk in the shadows.  During the day I'll kick about in my sunglasses, but I still where my contacts to see at a distance.

The thing is this morning I ran sans corrective lenses.  I never saw what hit me.  My right knee suddenly developed an incredible pain.  The run only came close to my planned ten miles because I was on and out-and-back route.  The final two miles was a long slow plod.  Thoughts of bagging the Lumberjack nearly drove me to tears.  Walking up and down stairs required a break to let the discomfort subside.  The pain in my knee was surpassed only in severity by the thought of not going to Seattle in two weeks.

I read at somewhere today (the source escapes me) that to be a successful ultra runner one needs vision.  You cannot simply hope to finish.  You have to believe.  You have to see yourself finishing.  A vision of what lay ahead may be one of the preeminent traits an ultra runner should possess.  

If I plan to complete the Lumberjack Endurance Run I must see the finish line.  I need to visualize myself crossing the finish line.

The lone finisher of the Barkley Marathons in Tennessee last had but one reason to run that event last year.  To run all five loops.  That is a pretty clear goal.  In the twenty-five years of the Barkley over 800 men and women have assembled at the starting line.  Only eight have finished.  Last year's finisher was the ninth.  See the finish line.

I nearly lost that vision this morning.  In the meantime I shall rest.  I shall apply regular cold and heat treatment to make the knee well again.  As my knee regains its strength I expect my vision will become clearer again.

Because seeing is believing.

*UPDATE*  I saw the accompanying video posted to dailymile this morning.  It is an excellent example of vision.  Do you see the fall or the finish?  What do you think the winner saw?  The losers?