One Last Ride

I first saw a Western States 100 buckle on a phone while drinking beer at a bar with John at a law firm happy hour back in 2015.  Of course I wanted one and thought it a simple as signing up and running the race.  Thus began my dabbling in the world of ultramarathons. 

As anyone who has tried knows, you don’t just enter the Western States 100.  You first have to complete either a 100k or 100 miler that is on a list within a specified cutoff, then you have to enter a lottery.  The first year you enter the lottery you get one ticket.  The next year you get 2, then 4, then 8, and so on.  Prior to COVID, you had to enter the lottery every year or you lost all of your accumulated tickets. Every year since 2016 I have managed to run a qualifying race.  This year a ticket with my name was pulled. 

Normally, that would be a reason for pure excitement, but over the last half decade these wheels have seen a lot of miles.  In the last six years I have finished two marathons, five 100ks, and three mountain 100 milers.   The hundreds of hours and thousands of miles running have taken a toll.  One of my knees has advanced cartilage degeneration and most of this year I have been sidelined with injury.  On a backpacking trip this summer I was hobbled and for the first time ever was the slowest hiker in a group, struggling to keep up with my 11 and 13 year olds.  I will turn 45 in May, and am confronted with the reality that things don’t heal like they used to.

These circumstance have forced me to think about athletic priorities.  At the top of the list is maintaining the ability to go on big wilderness adventures, particularly now that my kids are just reaching the age where they can handle these trips.  I want to take them to the Grand Canyon backcountry, to the top of Gannett Peak, and packrafting in Alaska.  That is not going to happen if I can’t cover the miles.  At the bottom of the list are road races.  I have made peace with the fact that Boston was my marathon last act.

In between are very few, very special races, including the Western States 100.  Is it worth the cartilage capital it will require?  This week I was forced to decide.

On one side of the ledger are the challenges: I have 200 days to prepare, have not been running for months, am in the middle of physical therapy trying to rehab the knee, and have real doubts that I will be physically able to finish this race.  On the other side of the ledger: I have experience, knowledge of how to prepare and a realistic understanding what I will face, and the mental toughness to walk for hours through pain.  We usually regret the things we don’t do more than the things we do, so passing on my one (and probably only) chance to go get that buckle with the mountain lion is simply not something I am going to do. 

It’s on, with no agenda, no expectations and no goals other than to finish.  This may be my last ultramarathon ride, so better make it a good one. Let the suffering begin.