DNF

(Do Nothing Foolish?)
2016 Gorge Waterfalls 100K or 80k in this case...

“How hard will I be on myself later?”  That is the question I voice to Lori while sitting at mile 49, contemplating whether to drop.  This is my answer.

I am sure anyone who does not finish what they set out to do struggles in the aftermath with questions of disappointment, self-doubt, failure, and in extreme cases even self-blame.  But what are natural and somewhat healthy feelings and what are counterproductive thoughts that only make your situation worse.  These thoughts are the inner gears of a mind trying to rationalize, trying to make everything ok, and trying to figure it all out.  As the gears grind, a mind that just hours before was so focused that it could block out intense pain and nausea is now relegated to endless spinning and grinding, haphazardly, from thought to thought.  This report is merely an attempt to stop the spinning for now.

The main questions I am struck with 36 hours after my third DNF in 15+ years of ultrarunning (and probably my first DNF that was truly voluntary) is this:  Does quitting show strength or weakness?  Is listening to your body smart?  Or is it just an easy rationalized excuse to stop when the going gets tough?  When you drop from a race you know you could finish (or fail to complete anything else that is important to you) you are stuck answering these questions.

Let me first say that I love running.  I have been running since I was a young child.  It was a stabilizing force and mental refuge during my adolescence when my parents were getting divorced.  It was something that was all mine; something no one else could threaten.  It is certainly a huge part of my identity both internally and externally.  Also, at various points in my life I was highly competitive in running and triathlon.  When I say competitive, I mostly speak in terms of being the best I can be, competing with my own conceptualized expectations (not others) by overcoming my physical limits in the moment.  This was “succeeding” by my definition.  For me, in a sense, when boiled down to its essence, competitive distance running is nothing more than a test of who will win—my mind or my body.  This construct is probably what lured me into marathons, then triathlons and then into ultramarathons.  I am always pushing my limits further and further out in a never ending search for a boundary I need to confront and overcome in order to prove something to myself.  What that is, I am not certain.  But I have some deeply personal ideas.

Let me again say I love running.  The inner peace I get when out on a long trail run can only be described as Zen like.  The pressures of work just vanish as I float down the trail—lost in my thoughts, thinking but not thinking—just being.  The amazing sights and sounds I experience deep in the greenest and wettest of Oregon forest or high on the driest and brownest Utah or Nevada mountain are so moving that they are truly transformative.  At any moment I can conjure up a split second mental snapshot from an adventure and all the exhilarating feelings come rushing back.  Feelings like this are addicting.  And running delivers them to me constantly when I let it.

So, this brings me back to my main questions.  Sitting here at my desk on Monday, reflecting on my failure to complete the Gorge Waterfalls 100k on Saturday, I feel a strong sense of depression and weakness.  Clearly the competitive side of my brain is yelling the loudest.  I had started the race with a lingering low grade sinus infection and mild runner’s knee, neither of which had quite gone away since January.  From the start, my heart rate was 5-10 beats higher than it should have been for the pace I was running.  Something was wrong.  I was working too hard.  Then, just an hour into an 11+ hour race, the very rocky trails slowly exposed my physical weakness as my knee caps started to catch fire.  As the day progressed the temperatures rose, and my stomach started its long familiar slide towards nausea.  Interestingly, the mental struggle my competitive side so craved took hold and pushed me along.  I ran by giant waterfalls and never stopped to look at them.  I was running in one of the most beautiful areas in the world, but I was so engaged in my inner mental battle that I was oblivious to beauty.  I only wanted to “succeed.”  The joy of running was not there.

(long pause in writing to reflect).

In writing the above, I have come to the following conclusions.  1) Whether quitting is showing mental strength or weakness all depends on how you approach the question.  Certainly, in the immediate struggle between mind and body, while moving down the trail in a race, when you are trying to overcome the discomfort of knee pain, nausea or whatever is ailing you, quitting when you could still go on is certainly a form of mental weakness.  Your body wins.  Your mind loses.  2) However, when the discomfort reaches a point where you are not enjoying the struggle even in the slightest, when you are not enjoying surroundings that should move you, perhaps even transform you, and when the pain or malady you feel is of a type that you fear could cause you permanent damage, that you fear could threaten your very refuge (that is--running), weakness might not be quitting.  Weakness might actually be giving in to the NEED to continue, to the NEED to “not fail.”  It comes down to taking a long term perspective versus short term perspective.  Having the strength to know you will get over short term depression and self-imposed feelings of failure.  In fact, quitting is having the strength of knowing deep down—to your core-- that you will get over these feelings soon enough, as soon as you can get back out on a trail, floating along—thinking but not thinking.  In short, having faith in the power of your refuge.

Gorge Waterfalls 100k- 5:20 for first 50k, DNF at 49 miles.

Thanks to Lori for being an awesome support crew and giving me the space to struggle.  You are the best.