The Life-Changing Lessons and Rewards of Ultrarunning

Why do I do this to myself?

I asked myself this question at some point in each of the handful of ultramarathons I’ve completed. I think every ultrarunner does. The suffering comes at different points in every race. But it always comes. And when it does, that is the moment that the race really begins.

When that moment arrived only 10 kilometres into the Shuswap 60k — a point-to-point trail ultra traversing the Larch Hills between Sicamous and Salmon Arm, B.C. — I knew it was going to be a very long day. Barely an hour in, I was overwhelmed with nausea. I was forced to a stop every few minutes to dry heave or shit in the woods. Things would get better for a bit but then quickly dip again. Taking in too many calories — overcorrecting my tendency to underfuel my long runs — was probably the fatal flaw. I paid for my good intentions by “running” the final 48 km over six hours in near unrelenting pain and discomfort.

While not the longest run of my life, in either distance or duration, it felt like the longest. It was the first time I truly believed I would have to drop from a race. It was not “fun” hard. It felt irredeemably hard. For most of the day, I could hardly string together five minutes of uninterrupted running. My time goal went out the window early. Quiet ambitions for a podium finish quickly became laughable. I felt sick. I felt miserable. I didn’t want to talk or be near other runners. I wanted to curl up and die in the forest, like a wounded deer.

This, of course, meant I had even more time than usual to ponder: Why the hell do I do this to myself?

As always, the answer only reveals itself in hindsight. Even then, I don’t think arriving at a fully satisfying answer is possible. It is this inexplainable quality that calls ultrarunners back for more, often within hours of swearing they would never subject themselves to such a miserable experience again.

I have trouble fully rationalizing this illogical phenomenon. But in the aftermath of this latest sufferfest, I reflected more than ever on why I do this. How could I possibly be excitedly researching my next ultra not even a day after crossing the finish line?

A complete answer may forever elude me, but I think I’ve identified the key principles that keep me coming back for more.

Hard Things Are Hard

I heard this from Obama, who had these words framed on his desk in the Oval Office. This simple, almost nonsensical koan-like mantra grants a sense of levity and perspective when mired in endlessly difficult situations. I think of it all the time. To to me, it summarizes the ultra experience as well as anything. Hard things are hard. If they were easy, they wouldn’t be hard. They would be frictionless, a given, insubstantial. We do hard things precisely because they are hard. So we can only expect, embrace, and lean into the challenges of hard things. It’s these qualities that make them worthwhile.

How We Do Anything Is How We Do Everything

Ultrarunning is completely trivial, in the grand scheme of life. It is optional, a hobby. Unlike a job or mortgage or kids or caring for elderly parents, you can quit running or drop out of a race whenever you want, with no real repercussions. But at the same time, ultrarunning feels way bigger and more vital than just a hobby or a sport.

This race in particular felt like an important moment to reflect on how I want to show up in the world. Do I want to give up when things get difficult or don’t align with my expectations, or do I want to persist? If I can’t see a long run through the woods to the end, how does that mindset manifest in other parts of my life? Ultimately, how I run reflects how I do everything. And I want persistence, follow through, and challenging limiting beliefs to characterize all of my pursuits.

Showing Up For Those Who Show Up For Me

I didn’t finish this race for me. I finished it for all the people who showed up for me. For my wife hopping between aid stations and tolerating the weekends consumed by running for months on end. For my family following my race on the live tracker at home. For the volunteers who sacrificed their entire day, enabling the hundred-odd runners to undertake this adventure.

To engage in a fundamentally selfish pursuit like ultrarunning while surrounded by the overflowing selflessness of friends, family, and complete strangers is profoundly humbling. It motivates me to in turn show up for them, to honour their time and commitment and love by giving it everything I have. It inspires me to be a better person, to be more selfless myself, showing up for people the way they show up for me.

The Reward of Ultrarunning is Gratitude

Learning to do hard things, to persist, and to show up are ultrarunning’s key lessons. For me, gratitude is the reward. That is why I do it. To direct my mind into a state of “unabashed gratitude” as Ross Gay, one of my favorite writers, beautifully refers to this life mindset. Trail and ultrarunning open me to unabashed gratitude for people, for family, for trails, for mountains, for trees, for having a body and mind that can do hard things, like running 60, or 100, or 160 kilometres. And gratitude for even — perhaps especially — the minutiae, the small delights of life: cold beer, veggie burgers and fries, creekside campgrounds, warm showers, good music, dry socks, big hugs, happy dogs.

Gratitude usually doesn’t hit during an ultra, at least not in the way that comes after. In the aftermath, the pain and unpleasantness serve as a counterpoint, a way to deepen my capacity for gratitude and connection to life, in all its hard, messy, confusing, unpredictable, beautiful, amazing glory.

The Shuswap Ultra felt like a failure performance-wise, but a success in all the ways that really matter. It made my “why” feel pretty obvious. And it helped me understand how, despite the suffering I endured, I already can’t wait to do it all again.