Thank you, Hardrock
Thank you, Hardrock
Emerging from my post-Western slump
Western States is over… now what?
If you’ve been with me here for long, you know that the only thing I’ve been writing about lately is my preparation for Western States, the iconic 100-mile trail race I finally made it into this year. You’ll also realize that the race was 3 weeks ago and I haven’t yet published a final capstone report about it.
The fact is, I’ve been slumping since the race, mired in more than the normal amount of post-race malaise, caught in anticlimax, feeling ambivalent about running and under-enthused for writing about it.
No, I haven’t stopped running. My array of streaks acts as a pilot light — they’ve taken on a life of their own, and it would take something much more catastrophic than a little post-race malaise to break them. But the runs have less zest, like I’m just going through the motions, and there’s more questioning: why am I still doing this?
And yes, I say all the right things about the race (it truly was a powerful experience). People say “how was Western States? It must have been great!” and I say yes, it was great! It lived up to the hype. It was amazing. You should definitely keep punching your ticket, keep entering that miserable lottery, because the experience is everything you’ve heard and more!
All of that is absolutely true and accurate, and all the good things I write about the race (when I finally write about the race) will also be true and accurate. There are things from this race I’ll remember for the rest of my life — the crowd at the top of the first climb, that marvelous snow on Red Star Ridge, the genuine enthusiasm of the people in the halfway towns, seeing my family in Foresthill, those middle-of-the-night miles with my son, having my wife run the final miles into that indescribable finish line… yes, a whole lot of goodness.
I intentionally leave out the malaise part. And if I mention that I was disappointed with my performance, I try to downplay that. After all, this was a life-list race, an experience that so many people dream of — how greedy and ungrateful must I be to even think about something so petty as my finish time, right?
Well, no, I don’t really believe that. I know that it’s possible to both deeply appreciate the experience and also be less than satisfied with my performance.
But the truth is that nobody other than me really cares (or even notices) that part, so I try not to talk too much about my results and how I feel about them.
Which doesn’t mean that I don’t still feel: disappointed with my performance; slightly embarrassed at the apparent delusional hubris of my publicly declared goal; and guilty about all of that (because how greedy and ungrateful must I be…)
Thus the malaise.
Recovery
Hardrock was last weekend.
If you’re unfamiliar, Hardrock is another iconic life-list hundred miler with a rich history and a long-shot lottery for entry. (Background links: I wrote about Hardrock in Lottery Day, and
has a good orientation in Hardrock’s Draw.)I tuned-in to the Hardrock livestream on Saturday morning, waiting (along with several thousand of my closest friends) to see (among other things) Courtney Dauwalter’s finish. Hosts (and veteran Hardrockers) Maggie Guterl and Andy Jones-Wilkins were discussing various aspects of the race and the route and the runners, and sharing footage of runners from around the course. It was riveting coverage, and it led me to some important insights that have me on the mend.
1st insight: A concrete problem to solve
My revival began when the topic turned to faltering runners who weren’t having the race they’d hoped for — what are they thinking, how do they go on? Of course the answer lies in the importance of tiered goals (what I call a hierarchy of goals) and having the flexibility to accept it when you have to give up one tier and drop to the next.
As they talked about their own experiences with mid-race goal adjustment and expectation management, it occurred to me that, though I’ve sometimes done well with this, that was not the case at Western States. In fact, it seemed that my abiding feeling of disappointment was the result of a dysfunctional hierarchy of goals, not my performance itself.
As always, I’d thought about (and this time published) my hierarchy, but this particular time I hadn’t truly embraced it. Instead, I’d let my reach goal become my only goal, and when that slipped out of reach, somewhere around mile 70, I was adrift (and remained adrift weeks later).
Recognizing this helped change my vague and amorphous feeling of regret into a concrete problem to solve — something I can fix in my next race. And for an ultrarunner, having concrete problems to solve (and a next race) is a major step towards recovery.
2nd insight: There’s still time (older, faster, stronger)
Another realization… three of the first eight Hardrock finishers were at least 48 years old (including Javier Dominguez, who passed Courtney in the final 2 miles for third place), and ten of the 111 finishers were older than me. And this, a week after my friend Mary Kowalski (only a little younger than me) won Pennsylvania’s brutal Ironstone 100k for the second year in a row, (breaking her own course record in the process).
It’s not all about age, but age is certainly a factor, so it’s nice to have these reminders that there can be more good running ahead, if I want it. (Coincidentally, Sarah also wrote a valuable piece on this topic recently.)
And oh, by the way, I’ll have 32 tickets in the next Hardrock lottery…
3rd insight: The spirit of our sport (and that pass!)
Yes, that pass, and with it, we can seal the deal, complete the renaissance.
We’re in the final couple miles of the race. Courtney is in third place and running strong, but Javier (who has run the entire race without crew or pacer or even drop bags) is closing on her, also running strong, and no matter how much you love Courtney, you can’t help but cheer for Javier, too.
The coverage is perfect, with a camera on each runner, and in a moment they are side by side, and they run together. That moment, their side-by-side strides, their smiles, the general grace of their exchange, is a perfect encapsulation of the spirit of our sport.
Competitive, yes — but there was (and is) so much more to it. I still want to be a part of that.
Now what?
There were many more moments of electricity and emotion before and after that, but that’s the one that really broke my spell. Put that with those other insights, and it has me feeling excited again, able to look forward towards the next adventure with renewed enthusiasm and optimism.
I may not have a specific answer to “Now what?” quite yet, but I am asking the question with a very different tone of voice now.
Thank you for that, Hardrock.
Thanks for linking to my post.
Tell what happened...why did you miss your goal(s)? Bad races are good teachers!
Thank you for sharing--a good read and very helpful! I usually do a high, a medium, and a low goal for races. I'm trying to figure these out for ES100 now.