There are no Coincidences
Originally written on Monday, March 24, 2008 at 10:12pm
When I woke up at 4:30 a.m. on the day of the race I knew a number of things were going to happen throughout the course of the day. I knew I was going to run 50 miles. I knew I was going to meet some new and interesting people at the race. I knew I was going to have an amazing time, and I knew that at least once during the day I was going to question my sanity. Yet it always seems that it is the one thing we do not prepare for that inevitably forces us to make a difficult decision. This is no less true in our daily lives than it was for me on this given day.
I drove to the race feeling calm and confident. Sure in my abilities and the path that had led me up to this point in my journey. Everything seemed to be working in my favor. My muscles felt loose and rested. The weather was perfect: cool and slightly breezy. Unlike most of my races I knew this was going to be a long day, and I was already in a state of mind that allowed me to see the course of the day unfold before me.
I started the race in the middle of the pack but methodically worked my way up front. I used my powerful small flashlight illuminating the ground before me as a guide of where to step. The race was called "Croom's Trail 50 miles Fools Run" and the name was apt. Only a fool would choose to pay and run along a treacherous trail littered with dead brush, fallen branches, hidden roots and any number of other perils.
As we passed by the "start/finish" area and began our first 15-mile loop I settled in to a comfortable pace with a group of four other runners. There was a young man in a red shirt around my age who led the pack and despite his cavalier approach to running headlong into the trail kept us at a good pace. He constantly stumbled over the raised branches and hidden roots, and he fell twice. Muttering about a weak lighting, red shirt allowed me to pass him and take control of the pace group. I led us further down the trail until we reached a fork in the trail with no visible marker as to which way to go. No glow sticks, no trail tape, no orange blaze to let us know which trail was correct.
As the other four members of my pack and I discussed which way to go I was suddenly reminded of a scene from "The Lord of the Rings" where Gandalf is leading the Fellowship through the Mines of Moria and comes upon the three diverging paths. I smiled to myself as I thought "I have no memory of this place". After discussing it for a minute or so we continued on the right trail (we guessed correctly) red shirt took the lead again, stumbling through the darkness. I remember thinking to myself how horrible it would be if he fell again and broke an ankle.
Not ten minutes later...I fell, and felt as much as heard a sharp *SNAP* in my left foot and ankle. Immediately grasping my foot in a crouch, I gasped as the pain seared through me. Red shirt and the rest of my pack stopped and asked if I was okay, but I told them to go on. They could do nothing for me. The last runner in the pack told me it was 12 miles to the beginning of the loop, and only three miles back to the base camp. I did the only thing I could do. I ran.
Or rather, I tried to run. The first step sent a lance of pain through my leg as I whimpered to another stop. Doggedly, I began walking forward. Determinedly, I put one foot in front of the other, all the while thinking to myself...all of the training, the countless hours, the dedication...wasted. As other packs of runners caught up to me they each expressed their concern and offered sympathy, but all I could taste was the bitter ashes in my mouth. Wasted. As the grey of pre-dawn broke the darkness around me, my self-pity and morose thoughts transformed into a series of short, angry phrases:
Pain is...a weakness.
Pain is...temptation.
Pain is...temporary.
Pain is...an illusion.
Pain is...life.
Pain is...meaningless.
Pain is...powerless.
Pain is...nothing.
Pain is...the Siren's Song.
Pain is...a welcome struggle.
Pain is...the price to be paid.
Pain is...on the road to victory.
With each utterance I lurched forward into a shambling run, bloodied but unbowed in my quest. I would not allow myself to come so far only to fall so short from my goal. The pain was grueling yes, but no matter how sharp the pain felt, no matter how much it seared through my leg, I knew that the pain in my ankle was a pale shadow compared to the pain I have felt before in my life. A small pinprick compared to a gaping hole in my chest. The pain served as a reminder of how important each continued step was to me. Not just for myself, but for all of the people who doubted. For all of the people who say it cannot be done. More importantly, for all of the people who wish it could be done, but cannot themselves. Most importantly, for those family and one or two friends that I love and cherish.
Anger is a funny thing. It fuels the body with adrenaline and allows us to achieve more than we are otherwise capable of. It was anger that motivated me to sign up for the IronMan competition after an incident with my father over the summer. It was anger over lowering my guard that convinced me to sign up for the Ultramarathon. Yet Anger is its own weakness. Anger fades. It is illusory. It is transitory; of the moment. The only way to live a good life is to act on our emotions, but emotions are not enough to sustain us over the course of time. Emotions cannot go the distance. For that, one needs to be committed to a deeper reservoir of power.
Dedication. Belief. The will to act. Dedication to one's self, dedication to the lifestyle I have chosen for myself, and dedication to live each day to its fullest potential. Belief in myself, belief in my ability to achieve anything....anything I set my mind to, and belief that what I do will inspire others to better themselves, if in many different ways. The will not just to dream, but to act. To make my dreams a reality and to inspire others to achieve their dreams, whatever they may be. The will to change our lives for the better by becoming something greater than we are.
So I ran. I jogged and I shuffled and I limped and I walked...and I ran.
Then I ran into Phil. Literally. In my reckless attempt to carry on I caught up with one of the packs that had passed me and joined myself to them in the back. There were five runners, and as I joined their conversation I introduced myself to them. One of them asked if my ankle was going to hold up. In a grim humor, I quoted Han Solo from "Star Wars" in saying "Don't worry. She'll hold together." Ironically enough, a hidden root and a twisting pain in my foot made me fervently think to myself: Hear me baby, hold together.
The last runner in the pack in front of me was Phil. A 29-year old infantryman from Ft. Benning, Georgia, Phil and I became very close throughout the course of the race. Genuinely concerned about my ankle, Phil offered to help me with an Ace bandage and painkillers when we reached his truck at the beginning of the trail. Over the course of the next seven miles or so I took the lead from the pack and pushed at a quicker pace to try and get to the beginning quicker. Phil kept pace with me and kept asking to make sure I was doing okay. Over the course of 10 hours running together you really get to know a person. Phil had a number of things he really needed to talk about and I was really glad I was able to meet him and listen. Truly a great guy.
The two of us finally reached his truck and I swear Phil had enough stuff to stock a Walmart in the back of his truck. He had a cooler with drinks, a box of power bars, an Ace bandage, and the coup de grace...800mg Aspirin. This is the stuff you can give to horses and women in labor. (Okay, not really...but still potent stuff) I am stubborn to a fault with most things, and that includes taking medicine. I rarely ever do so unless it is absolutely. Being in the condition I was in though, and having 30 more miles to run with an ankle I was seriously considering gnawing off at the bone...I wrapped my ankle in the bandage, popped an Aspirin and we headed out for the second loop with Phil.
If the second loop was torture for me, it was just as bad for Phil. By mile 30, Phil was nauseous, gaseous, bloated, dizzy and overall in a bad way. Each person is different, but you have to maintain the very fine balance of hydration and caloric consumption in order to keep your body functioning properly. If there's one thing I've come to learn extremely well over the last year, it's my body. Over the course of the entire race I consumed no more than 600 calories. One and a half bananas, 1/2 a Snicker's marathon bar, one 3 oz. cup of chocolate M&Ms, and a handful of reduced fat Wheat Thins. That's it. Of course, I drank enough water and Gatorade to fill a small lake, but even still I didn't need to use the bathroom once all day.
Phil though was eating gels left and right and starting getting some really nasty cramps. At this point I was running faster than him (ankle and all) and he told me to keep going without him, but I told him to forget it. Without him, I would have been in really bad shape and I was going to repay him for his kindness. So I chivvied him, bullied him, and kept making him take step after step in order to keep him from stopping. So Phil (the cramped and dehydrated) and I (the cripple) somehow managed to make it back to his truck at the end of the second loop. At that point he told me how sorry he was for my ankle but at the same time how grateful he was I stuck around to run with him. That made the race worth while for me if nothing else. With 35 miles down and 15 to go we were on our way.
The last loop I led for most of the way making sure Phil was drinking enough water to stay hydrated and trying to work out some of those knotted cramps by walking every once in a while. It started raining on us with about four miles to go, but Phil was almost burned out by this point. I just let him take the lead and jogged behind him when he could, talked next to him when he walked. Everything really does happen for a reason, and if a sprained ankle cost me a chance at winning the race, it also put me in a position to meet Phil and help him finish his race. Definitely worth it in my opinion.
Ten and a half hours after starting the Croom's Fool Run Ultramarathon Phil and I crossed the line together in what culminated in a great day. We had to run through the finish line again because the photographer was sitting under a tarp. I thought it was hilarious. After the photo-finish I walked over to the covered bench where a dozen or so finishers were recuperating. They asked me if I was hungry, and I stared at him. He gave me a hamburger. A juicy, delicious, heavenly hamburger. Probably one of the best-tasting things I've ever had in my life.
The other finishers were sitting at the benches but despite my ankle I was standing and walking around. I truly felt incredible after the race. I just had an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. The more so for having done it in the way I did. Phil and I talked for a few minutes before I decided to head back to the hotel and get out of the rain. To celebrate my race I ordered a large pepperoni pizza and devoured it in one sitting. (It's becoming a tradition)
Yes, I probably aggravated my injury by running 45 miles with a sprained ankle. Yes, I could have run another race in a month or two after letting my ankle heal. Yet I also kept my promise of finishing through with what I started. I kept my promise of not quitting and not giving up. Like I said, the race was an amazing experience, and I wouldn't change anything that happened.
This thread goes out to all of the people (including myself) who have ever used the word can't at some point in their lives. I would like to introduce all of us to the words can, will, and did.
Oh, one last thing. A small thing, but important to me so I'll end my thread with this...
As I was gathering all of my gear the morning of the race I suddenly noticed some words written around my race number hanging from my race belt. They read: Don't quit. Don't ever quit...
...and I never will.
When I woke up at 4:30 a.m. on the day of the race I knew a number of things were going to happen throughout the course of the day. I knew I was going to run 50 miles. I knew I was going to meet some new and interesting people at the race. I knew I was going to have an amazing time, and I knew that at least once during the day I was going to question my sanity. Yet it always seems that it is the one thing we do not prepare for that inevitably forces us to make a difficult decision. This is no less true in our daily lives than it was for me on this given day.
I drove to the race feeling calm and confident. Sure in my abilities and the path that had led me up to this point in my journey. Everything seemed to be working in my favor. My muscles felt loose and rested. The weather was perfect: cool and slightly breezy. Unlike most of my races I knew this was going to be a long day, and I was already in a state of mind that allowed me to see the course of the day unfold before me.
I started the race in the middle of the pack but methodically worked my way up front. I used my powerful small flashlight illuminating the ground before me as a guide of where to step. The race was called "Croom's Trail 50 miles Fools Run" and the name was apt. Only a fool would choose to pay and run along a treacherous trail littered with dead brush, fallen branches, hidden roots and any number of other perils.
As we passed by the "start/finish" area and began our first 15-mile loop I settled in to a comfortable pace with a group of four other runners. There was a young man in a red shirt around my age who led the pack and despite his cavalier approach to running headlong into the trail kept us at a good pace. He constantly stumbled over the raised branches and hidden roots, and he fell twice. Muttering about a weak lighting, red shirt allowed me to pass him and take control of the pace group. I led us further down the trail until we reached a fork in the trail with no visible marker as to which way to go. No glow sticks, no trail tape, no orange blaze to let us know which trail was correct.
As the other four members of my pack and I discussed which way to go I was suddenly reminded of a scene from "The Lord of the Rings" where Gandalf is leading the Fellowship through the Mines of Moria and comes upon the three diverging paths. I smiled to myself as I thought "I have no memory of this place". After discussing it for a minute or so we continued on the right trail (we guessed correctly) red shirt took the lead again, stumbling through the darkness. I remember thinking to myself how horrible it would be if he fell again and broke an ankle.
Not ten minutes later...I fell, and felt as much as heard a sharp *SNAP* in my left foot and ankle. Immediately grasping my foot in a crouch, I gasped as the pain seared through me. Red shirt and the rest of my pack stopped and asked if I was okay, but I told them to go on. They could do nothing for me. The last runner in the pack told me it was 12 miles to the beginning of the loop, and only three miles back to the base camp. I did the only thing I could do. I ran.
Or rather, I tried to run. The first step sent a lance of pain through my leg as I whimpered to another stop. Doggedly, I began walking forward. Determinedly, I put one foot in front of the other, all the while thinking to myself...all of the training, the countless hours, the dedication...wasted. As other packs of runners caught up to me they each expressed their concern and offered sympathy, but all I could taste was the bitter ashes in my mouth. Wasted. As the grey of pre-dawn broke the darkness around me, my self-pity and morose thoughts transformed into a series of short, angry phrases:
Pain is...a weakness.
Pain is...temptation.
Pain is...temporary.
Pain is...an illusion.
Pain is...life.
Pain is...meaningless.
Pain is...powerless.
Pain is...nothing.
Pain is...the Siren's Song.
Pain is...a welcome struggle.
Pain is...the price to be paid.
Pain is...on the road to victory.
With each utterance I lurched forward into a shambling run, bloodied but unbowed in my quest. I would not allow myself to come so far only to fall so short from my goal. The pain was grueling yes, but no matter how sharp the pain felt, no matter how much it seared through my leg, I knew that the pain in my ankle was a pale shadow compared to the pain I have felt before in my life. A small pinprick compared to a gaping hole in my chest. The pain served as a reminder of how important each continued step was to me. Not just for myself, but for all of the people who doubted. For all of the people who say it cannot be done. More importantly, for all of the people who wish it could be done, but cannot themselves. Most importantly, for those family and one or two friends that I love and cherish.
Anger is a funny thing. It fuels the body with adrenaline and allows us to achieve more than we are otherwise capable of. It was anger that motivated me to sign up for the IronMan competition after an incident with my father over the summer. It was anger over lowering my guard that convinced me to sign up for the Ultramarathon. Yet Anger is its own weakness. Anger fades. It is illusory. It is transitory; of the moment. The only way to live a good life is to act on our emotions, but emotions are not enough to sustain us over the course of time. Emotions cannot go the distance. For that, one needs to be committed to a deeper reservoir of power.
Dedication. Belief. The will to act. Dedication to one's self, dedication to the lifestyle I have chosen for myself, and dedication to live each day to its fullest potential. Belief in myself, belief in my ability to achieve anything....anything I set my mind to, and belief that what I do will inspire others to better themselves, if in many different ways. The will not just to dream, but to act. To make my dreams a reality and to inspire others to achieve their dreams, whatever they may be. The will to change our lives for the better by becoming something greater than we are.
So I ran. I jogged and I shuffled and I limped and I walked...and I ran.
Then I ran into Phil. Literally. In my reckless attempt to carry on I caught up with one of the packs that had passed me and joined myself to them in the back. There were five runners, and as I joined their conversation I introduced myself to them. One of them asked if my ankle was going to hold up. In a grim humor, I quoted Han Solo from "Star Wars" in saying "Don't worry. She'll hold together." Ironically enough, a hidden root and a twisting pain in my foot made me fervently think to myself: Hear me baby, hold together.
The last runner in the pack in front of me was Phil. A 29-year old infantryman from Ft. Benning, Georgia, Phil and I became very close throughout the course of the race. Genuinely concerned about my ankle, Phil offered to help me with an Ace bandage and painkillers when we reached his truck at the beginning of the trail. Over the course of the next seven miles or so I took the lead from the pack and pushed at a quicker pace to try and get to the beginning quicker. Phil kept pace with me and kept asking to make sure I was doing okay. Over the course of 10 hours running together you really get to know a person. Phil had a number of things he really needed to talk about and I was really glad I was able to meet him and listen. Truly a great guy.
The two of us finally reached his truck and I swear Phil had enough stuff to stock a Walmart in the back of his truck. He had a cooler with drinks, a box of power bars, an Ace bandage, and the coup de grace...800mg Aspirin. This is the stuff you can give to horses and women in labor. (Okay, not really...but still potent stuff) I am stubborn to a fault with most things, and that includes taking medicine. I rarely ever do so unless it is absolutely. Being in the condition I was in though, and having 30 more miles to run with an ankle I was seriously considering gnawing off at the bone...I wrapped my ankle in the bandage, popped an Aspirin and we headed out for the second loop with Phil.
If the second loop was torture for me, it was just as bad for Phil. By mile 30, Phil was nauseous, gaseous, bloated, dizzy and overall in a bad way. Each person is different, but you have to maintain the very fine balance of hydration and caloric consumption in order to keep your body functioning properly. If there's one thing I've come to learn extremely well over the last year, it's my body. Over the course of the entire race I consumed no more than 600 calories. One and a half bananas, 1/2 a Snicker's marathon bar, one 3 oz. cup of chocolate M&Ms, and a handful of reduced fat Wheat Thins. That's it. Of course, I drank enough water and Gatorade to fill a small lake, but even still I didn't need to use the bathroom once all day.
Phil though was eating gels left and right and starting getting some really nasty cramps. At this point I was running faster than him (ankle and all) and he told me to keep going without him, but I told him to forget it. Without him, I would have been in really bad shape and I was going to repay him for his kindness. So I chivvied him, bullied him, and kept making him take step after step in order to keep him from stopping. So Phil (the cramped and dehydrated) and I (the cripple) somehow managed to make it back to his truck at the end of the second loop. At that point he told me how sorry he was for my ankle but at the same time how grateful he was I stuck around to run with him. That made the race worth while for me if nothing else. With 35 miles down and 15 to go we were on our way.
The last loop I led for most of the way making sure Phil was drinking enough water to stay hydrated and trying to work out some of those knotted cramps by walking every once in a while. It started raining on us with about four miles to go, but Phil was almost burned out by this point. I just let him take the lead and jogged behind him when he could, talked next to him when he walked. Everything really does happen for a reason, and if a sprained ankle cost me a chance at winning the race, it also put me in a position to meet Phil and help him finish his race. Definitely worth it in my opinion.
Ten and a half hours after starting the Croom's Fool Run Ultramarathon Phil and I crossed the line together in what culminated in a great day. We had to run through the finish line again because the photographer was sitting under a tarp. I thought it was hilarious. After the photo-finish I walked over to the covered bench where a dozen or so finishers were recuperating. They asked me if I was hungry, and I stared at him. He gave me a hamburger. A juicy, delicious, heavenly hamburger. Probably one of the best-tasting things I've ever had in my life.
The other finishers were sitting at the benches but despite my ankle I was standing and walking around. I truly felt incredible after the race. I just had an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. The more so for having done it in the way I did. Phil and I talked for a few minutes before I decided to head back to the hotel and get out of the rain. To celebrate my race I ordered a large pepperoni pizza and devoured it in one sitting. (It's becoming a tradition)
Yes, I probably aggravated my injury by running 45 miles with a sprained ankle. Yes, I could have run another race in a month or two after letting my ankle heal. Yet I also kept my promise of finishing through with what I started. I kept my promise of not quitting and not giving up. Like I said, the race was an amazing experience, and I wouldn't change anything that happened.
This thread goes out to all of the people (including myself) who have ever used the word can't at some point in their lives. I would like to introduce all of us to the words can, will, and did.
Oh, one last thing. A small thing, but important to me so I'll end my thread with this...
As I was gathering all of my gear the morning of the race I suddenly noticed some words written around my race number hanging from my race belt. They read: Don't quit. Don't ever quit...
...and I never will.
posted by Marcos Redondo - Running For Hope at
8:21 PM
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