After
The surprising pain, learning to walk again and what the miles — and years since, taught.
This is me getting in the passenger side, driving from near where our camp was to the tent to get my buckle and a bite to eat. It took me quite a while to even be able to stand up after I woke up from sleeping for a couple hours.
I laid down a little after eating for a couple minutes and again, didn't want to move
If I recall, these are other people who ran the race – they're looking far better than I do
I'm not a fan of looking at photographs of people's food that they post everywhere but – you'll bear with me because this was the first solid meal that I had after the race and it was packed full of turkey/protein with spinach and who knows what else is going on but it was so deeply satisfying to my body. I was convinced that I was going to go to Ben & Jerry's and get a Vermonster afterwards, but I had no desire to do anything but take good care of my body after this very punishing event.
The metal is great – the buckle was the goal. It's a tradition in 100 mile ultra marathon events: if you can run the race – 100 miles, in less than 24 hours you "buckled." I wanted to buckle so badly. I did it.
My feet – three days later.
Same deal – my feet
Man, look at the swelling and bruising.
And my view. I literally dragged myself around on my belly, as if I had no use of my legs whatsoever, for two days. After that, I had to use a cane for a couple days. ... no shortage of ice baths. Wow.
My first day walking - with a cane! I must've set it down as I was talking with a friend (at his store) about the race.
What it meant
I don't think about it as much as I thought I would. My wife is usually the one who brings it up — she'll say it plainly: you ran a hundred miles. You did that.
What I didn't put in the race report was why I was really out there. My first marriage was ending, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. So I ran. To heal, to keep a promise I'd made myself, and because I just had to.
That was fourteen years ago. I'm remarried now, to a wonderful woman. The business is flourishing. We added two more children to the ones I already had, and they're all grown. I got the life back — more than back.
My body came back too, mostly. My knees mention those miles now and then, and the Spartathlon I'd meant to run next never happened. My ultra days are behind me, and that's fine. This body served me well; I look after it differently now — yoga, stretching, the long game — so it carries me the rest of the way.
Out on the course, in the dark, the whole thing came down to one sentence: keep moving. One more mile. One more hill. One more chem light. Seneca said to go as far as you can see, and when you get there you'll see further. Somewhere past mile 50 I'd have rather died than stop — not out of pride, but because I had decided, and the deciding was the thing.
There's a man I still think about. Around mile 89, a spectator told him how tired he looked. He believed it. He sat down, and he never got up. I've told that story to my children, to the people I coach, to myself. It's about where you let your attention go — not to what someone else has decided about you, not even to your own weakness in a given minute, but to the thing you set out to do.
So if you've read this far and you're standing at the edge of your own hard thing: choose it, and give it everything. Andrew Jackson said some goals are so worthy it's glorious even to fail at them. We each get to decide what life we mean to live, and then we show we've decided by how we live. I wanted my sons to watch their father hurt and keep going. I hope this does something like that for you.
— RR
The buckle was the goal. Under twenty-four hours, and it's yours. Mine came at 3:14 in the morning, with forty-six minutes to spare.
Post Race Reflection
[ Placeholder — Ron's final reflection will go here. ]