It is not a beginning time nor an ending time. It is the times in between. It is the time of the mid-day devil. Fears are not below consciousness. One wonders what one has gotten themselves into. The real deal happens in about 5 weeks. I signed up for a 50 mile race.
Yesterday I jog/walked 20 miles. At the end, I was able to question myself. Are you sure you want to keep going for another 30 miles? Yesterday, I might have said no. At the same time, It was not possible for me to make myself contact with the race and transfer to a shorter one. Some part of me wants to do this thing, 50 miles.
A 31 mile race is hard, but I know I can do it. A 50 mile race is hard and I don’t know if I can do it, except I do know. I know that I can walk it out when my feet get tired. Patience is the thing that is lacking. Why do ultramarathons at all? I want to have the mental experience that occurs in the final miles, and the amazing feeling that occurs at the end, a snapshot of triumph.
I’d rather train for and run 50 miles than have cancer. And we do have a choice.
I’m reading a book called “12 Hour Walk,” by Colin O’Brady. He is an adventurer, climbing Everest, dragging a sled across Antarctica, rowing through the Drake passage off South America. I’m not anywhere near his league. He defines the American Dream as, “…tied in with purchasing an agreeable house in suburbia, working all day, and being content with about fourteen day excursions.” I wouldn’t say that I was content with that life. It seemed more to me like a quiet hell. And that’s why I got out the instant I thought I could afford it. Realistically, one does need money. I focused on financial self-sufficiency in my life, not adventure.
Actually, really big adventurers never even entered my mind. I was focused on getting a good job. Now that I am older, what can I realistically do? A 50 mile race fits that idea.