What's Your Favorite Animal?

The first question was, “what’s your favorite animal?” The second question was, “what’s your second favorite animal?” and the third question, “how do you feel about the ocean?” As we hiked along The Path of the Gods, I quickly knew my first answer. A horse, the creature I had loved since childhood, mysterious, strong, unpredictable, with a wild streak of untamed spirit that can nor ever should be removed. My second, a dolphin, playful, intelligent, caring and up for adventure and fun no matter the circumstances. And as for the ocean, stunning and beautiful but terrifying from its strength and power to take away just as much as it can give. These questions were meant to signify aspects of oneself. The first, how I felt about who I am, the second, what I looked for in a partner, and the third, my outlook on life. I’m not quite sure I fully fit a horse’s majestic nature, speed or beauty, but the unpredictable and untamed spirit most certainly correlates with my desire to explore and push the boundaries of society. I see the dolphin in Codi as his optimism and passion for play often serve to counter my seriousness and over competitive nature. He always looks for the best in others and believes in the general goodness of humanity.

As for the last question, our hiking companions were unsurprised I answered with the ocean as a source of beauty, but did not think my addition of fear was as fitting. At first glance, being an ultra marathoner doesn’t seem to leave much room for fear or uncertainty. To stand on the starting line of a 100 miler through the roots and mountains of Hawaii, or face the 6,000+ ft mountain climbs of Spain takes a certain amount of crazy that on the outside appears as fearlessness. But, it is fear that allows me to stand waiting for the race to begin and have the courage to take the first step. Before every race, hard training run, tough speed workout, there is a tightness in my stomach and throat that reminds me I am challenging myself to be better than I was previously. It reminds me I may fail, but the chance to succeed is worth the risk.

Since moving here, it has been challenging for Codi to come to my races because of his work schedule. Both Ultra Pirineu in Spain and Trail Del Cinghiale in northern Italy, I traveled on my own and completed the races without crew (and no pacers but that’s also not a thing Europeans allow). For Pirineu, I had never been to Spain before nor do I speak a lick of Spanish. My flight was delayed, there was a massive line for the car rental of which I was charged extra because of license issues, I was stuck in downtown Barcelona traffic for two plus hours unable to find a parking spot, I lost my emergency blanket the night before the race and had to borrow one last minute, I forgot to pick up safety pins for my bib and had to use bobby pins which ultimately ended in me losing my bib at 103km, and my rain pants were rejected by the safety check because they are water resistant not waterproof leaving me to scramble to get another pair. This all happened prior to me even standing on the start line. Every mishap seemed to weigh on my heart as I began to think perhaps I was not destined to be at or finish this race. As I stood on the start line, cold, lonely and desperately hoping I wouldn’t lose my bib, I started to cry. I was terrified of what lay before me and sad that I was alone to face the challenges. I desperately wanted to disappear in the crowd of anxious runners and go home to cuddle with Codi and my kitten. I was scared of this race, knowing it would probably be one of the hardest races I had ever done.

I was right. Pirineu challenged me in ways I had not been previously and threatened to break me. My bad luck streak did not end at the starting line. My water bladder broke 35km in just when I was beginning to get in my grove and feel like I could make some time up from a rough start. I realized the situation about 2km out of the 40km aid station and had to make the decision of turning around, ending my race, or pushing forward. I had 10km to the next station with about 3-4,000ft of climbing and I was heading into some high altitude. In that moment I could have given in to the fear that had nagged me since I had boarded the plane for Spain, but I told myself I had to keep going to the next aid station and it wasn’t time for me to give up just yet. I was in rough shape when I hit the 50k aid station, but I had figured out that the liter sized empty plastic water bottles at the aid station would suffice to replace my broken bladder. I couldn’t give up here, maybe at 73km, but not now.

I didn’t end up stopping at 73km, or 84 or 95 or 101. I finished the race, with dark moments of crying out that I didn’t want to run one more step, talking myself in and out of finishing, feeling like every kilometer took three times longer than ever before, and feeling such intense loneliness and fear in the dark of night it made me heart hurt.

So why? Why did I and do I continue to place myself in a position of fear? Because I never feel more alive and untamed then running the trails of places I’d only dreamed I’d reach one day. There is such deep and profound beauty in the pain, discomfort and fear of these challenges that supersedes all else. Through the position of fear, I gain the strength and courage to believe I am capable of much more and with that brings immense joy. So that is my answer. There is beauty in fear and without fear, passion cannot emerge.