I’ve been writing in this blog for nearly 8 years now. I started
with the idea that I would transcribe some details about running ultras that I
thought might be of interest to someone out there. I’ve written things that I
regret, but mostly I’ve written things that I really felt on my journey along
the way. As much as I try, I don’t always write about running, and when I
don’t, I can only suggest that running really isn’t about running. It’s more
about what happens to me when I do it. If you are a runner, you will know what
I mean. If you’re not, I hope you have something similar, anything that
releases you from the tentacle.
This is the first time in 8 years I’m not signed up to run
an ultra. My instinct has wandered from a yearning to submit myself to the test
of running 100 miles as well and as fast as I can, on someone else’s course following
someone else rules, to just running for the experience of being somewhere I
want to be, like high in the mountains, possibly when the weather is turning
harsh. Where I only have myself to rely on.
It’s been a whole year since I began the first of the four
grand slam events last summer. There isn’t any peculiar day that I can
recall. In fact it was many days that
melted together that kind of became one. I think about it now as if it were
just one day. Because it feels that way. Like when the tide goes out. I don’t
really notice it, but when I do, it seems so obvious. To see all things when they happen is impossible, I suppose, particularly when I’m not looking for
them.