Demon 2: We have a problem.
Demon 1: Problem?
D2: Gentry.
D1: Gentry? That loser?
D2: He’s a problem.
D1: Seriously? He’s a non-entity.
D2: We’re losing our grip on him.
D1: LOL! Do tell.
D2: I think he may actually finish that Wild Oak thing this year.
D1 (cackling): Wild Oak?! The 100-plus-miler with the 29,000 feet of vert that he’s quit THIRTEEN times?
D2: Yes.
D1: Dude. Seriously. Stop.
D2: Look at that 10-day race he did in May.
D1: LOL! You mean the one where he missed his goal by 65 miles?!! Hahahah. There’s some badass for ya.
D2: We thought we had him knocked down and going home on Day 3. He. got. back. up.
D1: So?
D2: And then reworked his goal. And ended up beating that new goal by 15 miles. And had his best day of all on the last day.
D1: Big whoop. One race. Whatever.
D2: Yeah, but it changed him.
D1: Riiiiight.
D2: I’m telling you. He’s been running his ass off. Climbing. Lifting. Meditating.
D1: OK. Whatever. He’s still a wuss. You been in his dreams?
D2: Yeah. I have. He’s laughing at us.
D1: Doesn’t matter. He’ll quit. He always quits Wild Oak.
D2: Yeah but this time, he knows he can finish.
D1: Dude has a sweet resume, but Wild Oak is like 10 times harder than all the other stuff he's ever finished combined.
D2: I'm telling you. Different brain space now.
D1: No amount of training can get you ready if ...
D2: Listen to me. He is in a different place now. He knows that he can finish.
D1: Wait. What?
D2: This time, he. knows. he. can. finish. And he’s all, “I don’t know if I *will* or not, but I know now that I *can.*
D1: Oh. shit.
September 25, 2019
July 8, 2019
What It’s About
The heart of my running isn’t really about finish lines or more awards. Those are wonderful, but not really at the heart of my running.
For me, running is about ...
sunrises.
friends.
starting anew.
words that only come to me on the move.
perpetual youth.
toil.
the Now.
earned fearlessness.
lasting peace of mind.
freedom.
Sent from my iPhone
May 3, 2019
A 10-day, you say? WHAAAA?!!
So, here we are.
Vision quest, here I come.
Six sleeps until my first 10-day race.
This is my 10th multi-day race, so it stands to reason that I should have some idea of what to expect. Truth: I do not. And that’s likely a good thing. It could be life-changing. Also, it could completely suck balls.
Even as slow to learn from mistakes as I am, multi-days have taught me a valuable lesson: Think small. Control what you can control. Ignore the rest. Don’t hang too much on a distance goal, but also don’t act like a 10-year-old and go so fast and so long on Day 1 that you take all the fun out of the other days.
Other lessons? Bring so much sunscreen. And all the hats. And socks. And more than one towel. And an overabundance of resolve. And a battery-powered lantern for your tent. And some new stories. And your sense of humor. And bring beer. And your favorite shoes. And your lucky gloves (you know, those two different ones that you found on the side of the road during training runs this year).
And at least a gallon of sweet tea. And a jar of peanut butter. And one of those kidergarten-classroom-sized boxes of Goldfish crackers.
And all your Buffs. And most definitely that ugly-ass pirate shirt (!!). And a clothes drying rack. And a bottle opener. And a pallet of chocolate-flavored Ensure.
And a pen or two for a bit of writing as the mood strikes. And your puffy. And that sleeping bag that doubles as a parka. And definitely your Bedrock Sandals.
And your reading glasses. And the confidence that you have positively trained your ass off for this—doing 25 percent more running than normal across the past six months, putting on 10 pounds of muscle and doing so much core work that moves you once dreamed of being able to do are now warm-up moves.
And, most importantly, bring your imagination.
Vision quest, here I come.
Six sleeps until my first 10-day race.
This is my 10th multi-day race, so it stands to reason that I should have some idea of what to expect. Truth: I do not. And that’s likely a good thing. It could be life-changing. Also, it could completely suck balls.
Even as slow to learn from mistakes as I am, multi-days have taught me a valuable lesson: Think small. Control what you can control. Ignore the rest. Don’t hang too much on a distance goal, but also don’t act like a 10-year-old and go so fast and so long on Day 1 that you take all the fun out of the other days.
Other lessons? Bring so much sunscreen. And all the hats. And socks. And more than one towel. And an overabundance of resolve. And a battery-powered lantern for your tent. And some new stories. And your sense of humor. And bring beer. And your favorite shoes. And your lucky gloves (you know, those two different ones that you found on the side of the road during training runs this year).
And at least a gallon of sweet tea. And a jar of peanut butter. And one of those kidergarten-classroom-sized boxes of Goldfish crackers.
And all your Buffs. And most definitely that ugly-ass pirate shirt (!!). And a clothes drying rack. And a bottle opener. And a pallet of chocolate-flavored Ensure.
And a pen or two for a bit of writing as the mood strikes. And your puffy. And that sleeping bag that doubles as a parka. And definitely your Bedrock Sandals.
And your reading glasses. And the confidence that you have positively trained your ass off for this—doing 25 percent more running than normal across the past six months, putting on 10 pounds of muscle and doing so much core work that moves you once dreamed of being able to do are now warm-up moves.
And, most importantly, bring your imagination.
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