Strength in Pain
“I’ll find strength in pain, and I will change my ways –
I’ll know my name as it’s called again.”
- Mumford and Sons, “The Cave” (video after post)
Considering that I have more than six years worth of archives at my disposal, it might sound strange to hear that I very rarely look back through my old posts. Rather, I’m the literary equivalent of a hoarder, accumulating posts that seem great at the time, only to be tossed on the pile with all of the other stuff I’ve collected and eventually forgotten, while I periodically remind myself that someday I have to go through and actually do something with all this junk.
Accordingly, it took a relatively unusual set of circumstances to make me re-read my race report from the Western States 100 last week. On separate occasions, a couple of non-running folks took to asking about whether I had ever done any 100-milers before, and if I had done Western States … and like a true introvert, I found it much easier to just e-mail them the link rather than talk my way through the whole experience again. And since I’m just now turning the corner into full-fledged training mode for another 100-miler this July, I thought it might be nice to glance through that report before I sent it along, to remind myself exactly what it was all about.
What I found there actually surprised me.
Almost two years removed from Western States, my lasting memories of the event are overwhelmingly positive: the seemingly endless miles of magnificent Sierra Nevada trails, the beauty of running with a good friend through a warm California night, and the satisfaction of eventually reaching the long-awaited finish line. But when I re-read my own report, I suddenly remembered all of the troubling parts as well. The unexpected aches and pains that came far earlier in the race than I anticipated. The searing heat that nearly wilted me in the middle of the day. The awful predicament of being unable to keep any food or fluids down, but still having well over 40 miles to go.
In short, the race hurt. A lot. And many of those feelings are things I’m not particularly eager to experience again.
It all goes with the territory, of course; it’s practically impossible to run through rugged conditions for 50, 62, or 100 miles without having a significant amount of discomfort, and ultrarunners are somewhat unique for their eager acceptance of such trials as just another aspect of the sport. Yes, we enjoy our pain … and no, there’s really no good explanation as to why that makes sense, but it does.
Reviewing my report, I recalled something else from that race as well: I had an inner strength that was virtually indomitable. It was built through hard miles in training and smaller races leading up to the main event. It was a confidence of knowing who I was, and what I was capable of enduring. Even when my physical abilities were depleted and my emotional condition was completely thrashed, there was an overwhelming determination that none of that pain was going to keep me from reaching my goal. When I look in the face of that guy, I see all of the difficulty he's been through - but I can also see that absolutely nothing is going to derail him.
As I sit here typing this tonight, I know that I’m not quite that same guy right now. I’m just beginning to log the hours and pay the dues that I’ll need to redeem sometime during the day and night in the mountains around Lake Tahoe this July. The long training runs need to become more routine. The all-day race experiences need to be rehearsed and familiar. And the physical discomfort needs to be embraced again rather than avoided.
So that’s what I’ll be doing over the next few months: finding strength in the pain, and re-forging the identity I had the last time around, in order to have that same confidence about the person who will respond when my name is called again this summer.
Sure, the prospect of actively seeking pain causes a little bit of anxiety - but more than anything else, it gets me more excited than I could possibly express. There’s really no good explanation as to why that makes sense, either … unless you happen to be an ultrarunner, in which case one simply isn’t needed.
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It probably isn’t a coincidence, then, that this song has been on heavy rotation in my head for the last two weeks, in particular during my last couple of long trail runs. Mumford and Sons clearly aren’t your garden-variety rock band, but there’s something about this tune that’s just plain got me hooked.
Mumford and Sons, “The Cave” (click to play):
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