I ran 100 miles out of quiet desperation

I just finished my first, and in all likelihood last, 100 mile race. It has been a dream for a few years to complete the Black Hills 100, and I can finally say it is finished.

The number one question people ask me is why I would run a race like this.

I know exactly why I began this pursuit, though I am often much too afraid to say out loud the truth I will reveal to you now in writing.

I ran not because it sounded cool or because I felt like it was a natural continuation of my life or training. I didn’t do it because I wanted to challenge myself or because I like to do hard things.

I did it because, in some strange way, I felt like I had to. That it was an escape from the painful, quiet desperation that filled my soul.

When I stumbled onto ultra running, I was not doing well.

There were many days that I would come home to Olga, my wife, crying due to the severe stress we were experiencing. We were experiencing financial hardship like so many other young couples. She deeply desired to be more present with our first child but could not because we needed her income. I had taken on too much debt with schooling that my pastor salary could handle. We always had enough, but just barely enough. We largely had enough because of the help of family and friends. Nothing felt sustainable.

Meanwhile, I was over-involved in too many projects. I was trying to do everything that I knew to do to make the church I was leading grow, and also to be a part of building up the surrounding community that I loved. But all the time I was investing out in the community was sacrificing my family life. This only caused more struggle in the home relationship.

When home isn’t right, it is hard to make things right anywhere else. Slowly, my optimism dampened. My energy waned. I was crumbling.

I felt like a failure on nearly every front. My family was hurting. The church I was with was not growing like I hoped. The community projects I was leading were stalling out. I became so consumed with financial woes that my personal time with God shrank and shrank.

I needed something to go right. A spark to reignite my fire for living. I suffered as silently as I could, searching desperately for something to build upon.

I felt like so much of my life was out of control, or at least I didn’t have answers at the time for how to move forward.

But what I could control was my body. I could run.

In a sense, it felt like part of me was trying to run away from my problems. But, in reality, it helped situate me into my problems. Running gave me the satisfaction of some control. That I could decide, and follow through, with waking up and running a certain distance. I could control my diet and my rest.

It was a way for me to build up my confidence that had been severely damaged. I had begun to view myself as a failure. I began to wonder if I was doomed to continue in an endless cycle of inadequacy.

But day by day, mile after mile, I began to see myself, maybe not as someone who is great, but someone who is capable to endure and work faithfully towards something. It helped me refocus and dig my roots into my walk with God.

Finally, after a couple years of training, of multiple failures and even more successes, the fateful 100 miler came.

If I am honest, when I got to the start line in South Dakota, I was fairly certain that I was not going to finish the race. After all, I strongly believed that I am not the kind of guy who is capable of running 100 miles.

By the time mile 40 came, I was sure I was right. There was no way I was going to finish this race.

In the moment of failure and exhaustion, sitting there at that aide station begging to go home, I came to recognize two things.

First, I have the best wife and a great family. My wife knew the stakes of the race were high, and she pushed me to continue on. I encourage everyone, find someone who wills you forward to becoming the person they know you can become. I am sure that Olga sees a version of me that I never could imagine becoming. She knew I could finish this race before I ever believed it possible.

Secondly, I recognized that if I quit that it would seal in my mind permanently that I am a failure. I had trained as hard as I could, and if I quit I would have believed that I could never measure up. And this negative belief has long bled into other areas of my life. It was not that I was a failure just in running, but as a husband, a pastor, a friend.

So, I continued on.

Slowly, mile after mile, I began to believe.

By the time I made it to the finish line, totally spent, all I had left was joy. I had completed what to me seemed impossible.

I am still trying to process the race and all the time and energy that went into accomplishing it. Ultimately, it was a race that didn’t mean much on paper. But what it has done inside of me is still unraveling itself. The voice that is usually so negative and so loud is a whisper. I feel like I am standing taller, that my shoulders feel lighter. I feel a sense of freedom. I feel closer to God.

I wanted to share some of my raw processing of this event in the hope that it resonates with some of you. That maybe you are like me and you battle with doubt or feelings of inadequacy. I hope that my own race can be a bit of an inspiration for you to run your own, whatever that looks like. I also want you to know that I am happy to partner with you in this race. Reach out, I would seriously love to be your cheerleader.

If you liked this post and you would like me to write more about my thoughts about the race, reach out and let me know. I will be continuing to think on this, and would be happy to share some of the lessons from this journey.

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It would help me a lot. Thanks for reading! 

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