Here Goes...

I used to hate running. With a passion. Now I'm training for an ultramarathon and have a blog about running. What the hell happened? What the hell has possessed me to do such a thing?

I'm not sure of the answer to this question, but I think this blog may help me figure it out.

After Katie died in the spring of '06 I picked up running again. Usually just 3-6 mile slow jaunts like I did on and off for a couple years (mostly off). On long runs I ended up chanting to myself the following, which I adapted from a Thich Nhat Hanh saying (I simply replaced 'walk' with 'run'):

"We must not forget to be grateful.
We run for ourselves,
and we run for those who cannot
run.
We run for all living beings
past, present, and future."

To this day I'm not sure I can explain what this all means. But it kept me running.

Now, with some trepidation, I'm staring in the face of another "lost weekend" of running. 30 miles of trail tomorrow and 20 miles of trail on Sunday. This is what my training plan calls for almost every weekend until October in preparation for my first "ultra," a 50 mile race at the end of October in the hilly Kettle Moraine State Park. I know that this weekend is going to hurt. I know that ache in my legs, radiating up throughout the rest of my body that will introduce itself around mile 18. I know I'll probably trip over some roots and maybe have my legs seize up in excruciating pain like they did last weekend. I know I'll be so sore when I'm done that I wont want to move a muscle - not a finger, lip, or toe. I'll lay in complete stillness like a dead guy. I know I'll feel so exhausted that I'll be able to perceive my immune system become depressed and open for infection. And I know I'll get up to do it again.

And I know I'm not a masochist. At least, I'm pretty sure I'm not.

So why do this?

I know this is the question that ultrarunners get asked the most often.

And in the end there may be no better answer than "Because I can."

But maybe it also has something to do with being grateful. Being grateful for ourselves, those who cannot run, and for all living beings past, present, and future.

Run hard. Hoka Hey.