“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; . . . who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.” – Theodore Roosevelt
I was at a holiday party in December 2018 in Florida, and as is the way with my Florida comrades, my dear friend Caroline said, “let’s sign up for this 200-mile race that runs around Lake Tahoe in September.” I asked her if it involved altitude or technical trail. Navigating narrow ledges way up high and tackling boulders isn’t my idea of fun. In her unruffled British accent, she said, “No, I don’t think so. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous and scenic.” I have completed dozens of 100 mile running races. A handful of 135 milers. But a 200 miler? I’ve never run anything that far. I was intrigued. So, the next morning, we both rushed to sign up, and to our dismay, we were numbers 39 and 40 on the wait list. Two hundred and fifty runners had already achieved entry into the “graduate” level race. Some six months later, in May 2019, we were both off the wait list and in.
The race. The Tahoe 200 Endurance Run consists of 205 miles around Lake Tahoe in California and Nevada, by way of the Tahoe Rim Trail, with some deviations around Mt. Rose Wilderness, Granite Chief Wilderness and to the West of Desolation Wilderness, and includes 40K,000 feet of ascent and 40,000 feet of descent, at altitudes ranging from roughly 7,000 feet to 9,700 feet. The course hosts alpine lakes, high-altitude forests, rock-strewn landscapes, and is home to a diverse wildlife population including black bears, mountain lions, martens, bobcats, mule deer, marmot, porcupines, raccoons, and many types of squirrels, birds, fish, and other animals. Racers have 100 hours to get it done, which translates to being out there in the mountains for four days, without a hotel room or tent to call my own.
Along the way, there are 16 aid stations – ranging from 6.5 to 20 miles apart – which have everything from first aid to food. Runners can store personal drop bags with extra supplies at ten of the aid stations. Some aid stations have cots that runners can use to rest. Beyond the dazzling views and scenery, I know what the race will encompass: pain, suffering, focus, and the need to dig myself out of all of the emotional, mental, and physical pits I will succumb to over 100 hours.
The call to adventure. Why these races? I believe that big, scary challenges change us in dramatic ways. I know this because I have experienced it firsthand during the last eight years as an aspiring endurance athlete and a human being living through change. Doing what scares me provides insight into who and what I’m made up of and teaches me to be agile. Every 100 miler I have completed has been, in some respect, a lesson in survival and grace. For me, these races are never easy. Thoughts of quitting become appealing during the darkest moments. The reality is that no one cares if I complete a race except for me – and sometimes I don’t even care. But I do care about showing up and giving my all.
Beyond that, these races not only enable me to look around at the birds and trees and earth and mountains, but afford me an opportunity to strip myself of all the daily residue and bullshit that creeps up from trying to be everything that the world asks us to be: successful, professional, poised. The struggle and stress of running for endless hours makes me raw and vulnerable; I may laugh and cry within moments. Sure, much of it is physical, but more of it is mental. What’s the story I am telling myself? How can I get my mind to work with me and to stay calm, focused, in the game? These races help me uncover a more authentic version of myself. In my darkest moments, they teach me about kindness, empathy, and compassion – towards myself and others. And just when I think I cannot go on, the movement often helps me to uncover the granite within me, which fuels me forward, reminding me of my strength and drive.
The importance of mentors and coaches. After going it alone the last two years – a blend of a much-needed time-out and space to recover from health issues – I returned to my coach. I can get myself ready for most 50 – 100 milers, even 135 milers. But for 205 miles with severe elevation gain and loss at altitude, I needed my coach, Lisa Smith-Batchen, who is the perfect blend of tough and loving, not to mention her extreme knowledge of endurance events.
Coach Lisa frees me of the responsibility of having to plot and plan my training by supplying weekly schedules that build on prior weeks, and pinpoint where I need to focus my time and energy. For this race, it’s largely about time on my feet, climbing, and overall strength. My weekly training includes lots of miles running and walking (the last few Saturdays and Sundays have involved 6-8-hour training sessions), but also boxing, cycling (Peloton), and yoga.
Races of this magnitude do not happen by luck; they require focused training and commitment. Having worked with Coach Lisa for years, she’s my friend, partner, and sounding board. She knows how to jump-start my engines, and when I need to back off. I could not imagine venturing into this endeavor without her support.
Trial and error. I’d been hearing friends talk about cryotherapy for years, and with a lingering hip flexor/ piriformis injury, I decided to give it a go. Whole-body cryotherapy is a treatment that involves immersing one’s body into freezing or near freezing temperatures, for a few minutes at a time. It can help with muscle and joint pain, and bring down inflammation. Once or twice a week, I venture to cryotherapy, and for three minutes, I freeze. Do I dread it? Yes! But some ten sessions later, the cold has become manageable for me, and I might even say I am hooked and noticing some positive results.
I’ve had lots of issues over the years with race nutrition. Just when I think I’ve gotten it right, whatever product I’m using backfires, and I start again. For this race, since there will be real food at the aid stations, I will aim to use that, but considering that many aid stations are 20 miles apart (in mountain/climbing terms, that can take 7+ hours) I’ve been training using race foods I had long sworn off: shot blocks, gels, waffles. For me, when it comes to getting calories down on the go, it’s a matter of trial and error, but getting a program down pat pre-race is often the key to tolerating certain foods during the race.
Like-minded partners. Having running partners who are in it with you really matters. They keep you inspired and accountable; they are great to train with near or far, and are critical to plan with about strategy, gear, and logistics. I am thrilled to have Caroline as my Tahoe 200 partner to strategize with about fending off mountain lions, where to sleep along the side of the trail, and other items, such as what size backpack and bladder to carry, and drop-bag basics. We both use the same coach, which is an added benefit in terms of our training strategy and our eventual race-day plans.
Beyond that, I am always grateful to be part of the larger ultra-running community, and to know athletes who continue to inspire me on a daily basis, from breaking transcontinental records running across America, to breaking 100 mile age-group records in their 60’s, to summiting Everest, to tackling Iditarod 1,000 through the Alaskan wilderness; not to mention my Badwater family, each of whom are my heroes. Then there’s my Florida running partner who whenever I fly in for a weekend visit, never hesitates to put in six or seven hours of training with me (in what feels like a million degrees + humidity). I believe that surrounding yourself with amazing and inspirational people who believe in you – even on the days you do not believe in yourself – is how you grow and eventually become a better version of yourself.
The iceberg theory. Some people like race day. I like the days, weeks, and months of training leading up to it, when everything is full of possibility and optimism. It’s the days behind the scenes when no one is observing my training – the endless hours of sweat and hustle and commitment – that I grapple and grow and piece together my mind, body, and soul into someone who is going to show up at the start line. Someone who is ready and willing to dare greatly. When race day arrives, the endless struggles of fitting in workouts amidst a hectic work schedule, staying healthy, and focused all fade, and what’s left during the pre-race countdown are prayers and a silent I cannot believe I signed up for this.
The race is the final product; for me, everything that comes before is where the growth, learning, discipline, perseverance, and hard work reside. It’s the same mindset I’ve lived with most of my writing life – the hours, days, weeks, months of writing a story are where the love, grit, and magic live. The finished product is liberation, but doesn’t always equal its parts.
Failure. When it comes to races, I have learned so much more from my failures than my successes. Every race is full of dozens of failures: the aid station I forgot to stock up on food at; the wrong turn I made and added on an extra mile/s; forgetting to take my head lamp from my drop bag with nightfall approaching, and so on. Then, there are bigger failures: signing up for a race when my heart wasn’t in it because I got swooped up in someone else’s enthusiasm. The races I did not finish, or DNF’d, are the races that are with me the most, because I can remember the exact issues that arose, the moment when I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go on – whether I pulled myself out or was pulled out – and I remember how I felt. The defeat is often reminiscent of the end of a loving relationship: quiet and personal.
My failures are what enable me to examine everything from my training to what occurred the month or week leading up to a race, to my mental and emotional state and commitment. My failures have been a springboard for me to correct mistakes, plot and plan, and to move forward.
The correlations between ultra-training and work. Training for ultra-races possesses a lot in common with how I approach my work life. From committing to hard work and the long haul, to having the right gear or tools, to finding a mentor, to surrounding myself with like-minded people to share the journey, to being a part of something bigger than myself. Running races has taught me about taking responsibility for myself and sometimes those around me, finding solutions under fire, and appreciating my failures for what they are – learning opportunities.
Races have taught me that teamwork and collaboration not only help me to move forward, but also enhance my journey and make it more enjoyable. They have taught me about focusing on one step at a time, and not psyching myself out about the final goal. Races have taught me about humility, humor, and also what is possible through commitment and perseverance. They have taught me that it’s always a choice: to keep going, or to stop. Neither are wrong, but only one keeps me moving forward, and eventually gets me to my next chapter.