Running is a sport built around pain. Hardcore runners undergo excruciation that most people can’t imagine. And yet, in this sport built around pain, the most dreaded feeling is disappointment.

Perhaps that’s why, in the strange blend of feelings I have about this year’s Broadstreet, the most prominent one is anticlimax. I’m glad I raced, grateful for the weather, and yet my disappointment lingers.

Usually I would cross the 7th mile mark on leaden legs. From there, the sunny open road would stretch on forever. The last three miles would seem insurmountable.

I had a similar sinking feeling when I hit 7 miles this year, but for the opposite reason. I was running on bouncy legs. I had plenty of energy left– too much.

I pushed the last three miles, but it wasn’t enough. I crossed the finish line knowing that I could have gone faster. Some people like that feeling; I hate it.

I got into this argument with some friends recently. Most of us were runners, and most of those vehemently defended their perception of running as a sport.

Others denied it the title for reasons as superficial as its lack of a court, gear, and most tellingly, a ball. All sports have special equipment. And most non-runners would agree that running requires no skill. This latter idea abounds amongst the participants of “real” sports like baseball, football, and soccer. After all, anyone can run, right?

This debate got me thinking, and I came to the conclusion that running is not a sport.

Put down your pitchforks and extinguish your torches. I do not agree that it isn’t a sport for any of the silly reasons above. My argument rests on the fact that sports by definition require competition. And any time running involves competition, it becomes racing. So, while racing is a sport, running is not.

Please don’t get me wrong. Many runners feel compelled to defend running as a sport because they feel the label gives it validity and recognizes its difficulty. After all, many argue that it’s not a sport because they think that it doesn’t require skill or that it isn’t difficult. These are preposterous. I, on the other hand, argue that running is potentially harder than any sport, and that it is so precisely because of the characteristics that distinguish it from that time-honored title.

In any sport, the competition is between you and someone else. Your might against theirs. And there’s always a point where your might proves greater or lesser. At that point you need exert yourself no more. The demands placed on you are limited to your opponent’s abilities.

Wrestling, for example, is a sport that I highly respect (real wrestling, not the WWF crap). It locks its participants in a contest of wills, and it typically involves a long, wearying struggle– things that distance runners can understand. The difference is that it’s over as soon as you prove to be the stronger or weaker competitor.

In serious distance running, however, the demands placed on your are limited to your own abilities. When you run (whether training or racing) to the upmost of your abilities, your only limit is full-body failure.

There is no interpersonal competition in running– we specialize in beating ourselves into the ground. To do that, we need no gear, no ball, no ESPN covers. We don’t even need talent. All we need is to push ourselves harder than the rules, harder than the boundaries allowed by any sport.

As part of trend that I hope to see grow, I’ve decided to provide you, my readers, with pictures from the ultra. Because every internet surfer loves pictures– even the semi-literate ones.

Here I am right before starting the race. Just look at the optimism and faith in my eyes. That’ll change.

After 2 laps (about 17 miles in):

Some of my pacers:

Coming in on lap 3:

After completing the race. My optimism has been replaced with endorphins… look at the dopey smile. I look little the worse for wear, however:

The ultramarathon lived up to every expectation.

The ultramarathon was painful. Not at first; I ran at a roughly ten-minute-mile pace, which felt quite pleasant for the first 35 miles (is this what recreational running feels like?). The last 12 miles of the race were rough. The last 6 were agony. I shuffled through them on the wooden pegs that had replaced my legs. My feet flopped on the asphalt, slack after pounding so long on city sidewalks. This was not the searing pain that comes from outrunning others; this was the crushing, obliviating pain that comes from outrunning my own weakness.

The ultramarathon was fun. I was expecting three of my teammates to show their support on the sidelines. Instead I had six teammates running alongside me as pacers. They ran in two shifts of three pacers, completing a lap per shift (with a “lap” being 8.4 miles). For the last two laps of the race, I had my fiance, my big brother, and a friend from home, all running along beside me. They ran about 17 miles (A PR for my fiance– yay!) alongside me. Between all of my supporters, I spent very little time alone on my ten hour run. Their antics kept me fresh through the beginning of the race, and their presence bolstered my resolve on the last lap. They were fun to run with and play around between laps.

The ultramarathon left me shattered. After the race, my body was frozen in a running position. I couldn’t bend enough to stretch, even though I knew I’d pay for that inability later on. The next morning, muscle fatigue set in, leaving my muscles all the flexibility of petrified wood. Every move hurt in my back and shoulders, and my legs… well, I didn’t move those too much. I should, however, say that things would probably have been much worse if not for a certain darling mother’s early-morning 7-11 trip, which made an ice bath possible and thereby sped my recovery. Between that and the daily walks, my legs have gotten to the point where they can support me through a brief jog.

I had expected an extreme test of my focus, my fitness, my will. In that way, too, the 50-miler satisfied. The results of my trial, however, were surprising. I’ve realized something, something that will take more time, (and a whole ‘nother post) to describe.

My list of supplies for the ultra:

Grey shorts
Running shorts
Singlet
Fuelbelt
Race number belt

Racing socks
Asics socks

Shoes
Spare Shoes

Bodyglide

Plastic bags (for ice/wet clothes)

Gatorade
Soda (for end of race)

GU
Pretzels
White bagels
Cookies
Apple Sauce
Crackers

Nuskin
Band-aids
Needle
Towel
Clear first-aid tape
Tums (or a substitute… haven’t bought any yet) Share on Facebook