LNF (Llama Not Finish)

      OK, first things first. Thank you everyone for the amazing love and warmth that has been sent my way in light of my "Debacle in Laramie" as I am calling it. And in case you are still worried about me let me say this- I am always ready to quickly and without filter share my feelings (even in my weakest moments) this is very true. But, I am also a tough nut to crack. I am indescribably stubborn, I have been through the ringer a couple of times and it will take a hell of a lot more than a DNF to fold me up or fracture my psyche permanently.

Nice little rant there, Llama. But that having been said; what the hell happened? Hmmm, that's kinda of easy to answer and yet complex at the same time.

     Building up to the race week things were to say the least, hectic. Emily had to be out of her apartment on the same weekend of my 100 mile race and due to RAAM and other obligations in May and June we were unable to get any of her moving or packing done in advance. As the time grew shorter I began to realize that getting the move done (as we had hoped for) before Thursday and then heading up to Wyoming for the Laramie 100 seemed unlikely. So I was faced with a very tough predicament; listen to Emily who was telling me to go race, or do what I thought was right and blow off the race to help her get moved into our home. It seemed like a fairly straightforward (yet slightly heartbreaking decision); don't race. But as the stress of moving increased it became apparent that it wasn't that easy at all. Emily certainly didn't want me to miss my race after all the training I did. And I didn't want Emily to move without help. And I certainly didn't want her to feel bad for the rest of her life about making me miss my race. WTF? We both wanted to do right by the other person- but we were both miserable. I was in a mental battle to find "the right thing" to do. Be "selfish" and go race (that doesn't sound like a very good option at all) or stay and help Emily and make her feel horrible (also not high on the attractive scenario list).

  After some debate Em and agreed that I would head up to Wyoming to race and she would join me late Friday night or even Saturday afternoon worst case. She and her Mom would be able to get the remaining cleaning and moving done after her Dad and I had moved all the big furniture and boxes earlier that week... As I was driving up to Wyoming I was still in a huge conflict. My mind was going a million miles per hour and I was on the verge of turning the car around at every exit. I eventually made it to Laramie and checked into the hotel. I tossed and turned all night long and went to the race course the next morning to check out the start and try to make some sense of it. I decided I didn't care about the race. I drove back to the hotel, checked out and drove back to Denver immediately. I told Emily I was pulling out of the race and needless to say she wasn't very happy. But I think she was pleased to have some help. After some debate she and I moved a bunch of boxes and spent several hours cleaning, and we eventually got most of the moving done. I figured we would still be moving for the next several hours when abruptly Emily came into the room I was working on and informed me that the apartment office manager told her she didn't need to be out until Monday... Before I knew it we had stopped moving and we were in the car driving back to Wyoming together to race early the next day- just like that. I wasn't very convinced at all that this was the right decision, and I may have even sulked the entire way there. We checked into a hotel and fell asleep in each others arms exhausted.

  As I stood at the starting line the next morning my head was a mess. I was still thinking of what was left as far as moving goes, I was wondering if I should change to the 12 hour race instead of the 100, and I was thinking about everything in the world except how to race 100 miles.
     The race started and I went off fairly fast. I figured screw it, lets just run. I ran the first 12 miles of hilly single track in a sub 9 pace. I was going in and out of phases that had me feeling great and also thinking I should scrap the race and take care of business; live to fight another day. For miles 12-24 the demons were in full effect- telling me that I was being selfish for running, telling me that I was a incapable of racing in this mental state and telling me this was just a joyless experience. I was so emotionally and mentally folded by the time I came into base camp at mile 24 that I told Emily I was done. I told her "I have nothing left emotionally, physically or mentally" I decided to call it a day. We sat in the car for a while and I made peace of sorts with quitting. There was just too much going on and I wanted to be done. I didn't want to suffer for 15-18 more hours- "Call me a cab; I'm going home" Instead what happened was I got out of the car after almost 30- 40 minutes past, I pulled up my panties and started running again. Emily told me it was "the bravest thing she had ever seen" I didn't think so at all. I was miserable- and I would have rather shoved a bowling ball in my ass than go run, but I set off running anyway.

 In fact I ran pretty well. I finally let my mind go and tried to make sense of it- OK, I made it through the worst of the fears and mental diarrhea, I thought. And I didn't quit, even at my lowest moment- that made me feel good. So, now what? I could try to run the 100 (a reasonable although slightly unattractive option) I could go 50 and call it a day, I could get Emily out here to run with me for a while... what to do? I made it back to base camp with every intention of changing my shoes and getting back out there. When I sat down, I felt a little emotion starting to surface again. Then I found out there were some things going on at work- stressful bullshit that still needed to get taken care of before Monday- So I quit. Just like that. I felt great- I could have kept going- but I didn't. I didn't want to go suffer all night, and instead of figuring out how we could make it work, I turtled up, took of my bib number and said "lets go back home" Before I knew what happened we packed up the car and we were heading to Denver. I was confused and melancholy and my mind was mush.

 What did I learn here? A couple things and unfortunately I already knew most of them...


  1.  Commitment. You cant do ANYTHING if you aren't committed to making it work (even when it gets ridiculously hard) Burn the damn bridges and run like hell... HARD- that's how we do 100 miles. Period. There is no such thing as 99% committed.

 2. Joy. I run best when I run for joy. Even when I am running to PR, I am motivated by the joy of it. Even when it hurts and I am in pain- I am running for the joy of my recovery and because there are others who would love to be able to lace em up and go.

 3. Respect. Ultra is fucking hard, excuse my language. It deserves respect and it will humble you and kick your ass if you take it less than seriously. I am sorry I disrespected you.

 4. Knowledge. We learn when we fail. I failed. I learned.


       You know, I speak quite frequently on life change and weight loss and running, and its funny because commitment is always on the top of my list. The body and mind have no idea how to allocate its resources until we have commitment; easy enough. If your pain battered brain sees a way out when things are hard it will convince you to take it. However if your head knows no matter what, you will run like a crazy wild eyed freak right through the center of hell- you can be sure your body will figure out a way to make you faster... Hell, I butter my morning toast with this stuff. I have gone into total hand to hand combat with the voices in my head and yet somehow in a haze of stress and indecision I forgot it all. I forgot the very secret to my  life and recovery; create the destiny you desire and move forward. Don't stop, no fear, shut up head I am not listening to you anymore, I have work to do - redemption awaits...

       So I guess that's it. That is how I spent my weekend. It was not my first DNF but it was my most humbling and my most confusing for sure. I have been called obsessive in my past about not letting myself quit even on the most simple of training runs. Once I drove back to the gym after cutting a treadmill run short- I went back later that day to "get the miles I left behind" with a couple extra added on. I once told myself at the start of an 8 mile run "I don't feel very well today maybe I should run 6?" My response was to tell myself I was running 12 miles as punishment for even thinking I should quit early... sick? Probably. But before you call the therapist and set up an intervention you should know that I do rest when I am injured. I take days off when I am over training and I listen to my body (the memory of my spinal injury makes sure that I do this) and honestly, I don't mind the time off from running when its planned or necessary. But I don't ever want to quit just because I am not feeling like training or because I am having a bad day. I want the body of my work as an athlete and even as a human to be that of a joyful, relentless and focused individual. I hold the line in my training if for no other reason, precisely because know I am a flawed human and that I will stumble, but I chose to define myself by what I do every day- day in and day out. Perhaps most importantly, I don't really think its very important how fast we run, but I believe there is nothing more essential to the human condition than the speed at which we pick ourselves up when we fall.