Forty is a big deal birthday, and I’ve wondered for a while how I’d like to recognize it.
When I turned thirty, I trained for and completed an iron distance triathlon (a 2 mile swim, followed by a marathon, followed by a century-distance – 100ish miles – bike ride). That was a goal that supported my life then. In my 9-5pm, structured, often monotonous, and emotionally challenging existence of doing my best to stay a course even within all the classic inanities and indignities of modern office/remote work, creating and fulfilling a plan to achieve that kind of unhinged physical goal was a demonstration to myself that I could do very big things, one diligent step at a time.
Training was often grueling and monotonous, and nearly life consuming – every weekend’s focal point was iron man training and recovery; the rest was planning/logistics. It took over nearly a year of my life. But diligently following the training plan paid off beautifully – by the time race day rolled around, I had a fabulous time. I’m talking stars-shooting-off-in-my-brain level wonder and glee. Of course it was difficult, but I’d gotten most of the true challenges out of the way during training. My takeaway was that I’d do many more iron distance races…if I didn’t have to train for them.
Now, in my fortieth year, an iron distance triathlon no longer supports my needs. My motivation to train for that kind of a race is quite low. I’ve proven to myself that I can do it. And while life has its grind-y moments, they show up differently now that I’m sporadically employed and juggling many different facets of my life simultaneously (art, consulting, full-time Airstream living, health, relationships, life admin, etc).
In thinking about what I want to experience at 40, the idea of a long-form, slow but sustained, me-powered tour of a big outdoor experience sounds more appealing than a classic race. Right now my vibe is more about enjoying moments and presence, and working as hard as I can to create those conditions that afford me awe, joy, and connection. I’m also still intrigued by supporting my body in doing amazing things, right alongside and in support of my mind. The idea dawned that maybe I’d like to complete my first ultra-marathon.
If this sounds absurd to you, it does to me too. I wasn’t and am not a “natural” runner. The first mile I ran was unbelievable; ditto for the first full hour, then a half marathon, then full marathons, etc.
But, like an advisor coached me leading up to the iron man, I’ve heard it said that an ultramarathon is in many ways easier than a marathon. There is no expectation to run the entire time. Training, recovery, and nutrition management are all different. It’s about more real food versus gels; it’s about immersion in yourself and a course versus a crowd. That sounded exactly like what I am after (with a multi-day backpack or hut-to-hut type walk also appealing).
I needed to test that this was actually what I wanted versus what I imagined myself wanting, so throughout summer 2024 I began ticking up my long run mileage. Every weekend, resting every fourth, I chose a trailhead and course, a distance range, and set out on my hike/runs. I averaged between thirteen and fifteen minute miles; I hauled myself up and down mountains. The next day, I’d run again on sore legs. Again, just to test.
I knew this is what I want just after a euphoric tour in the lower Sierra Nevada range outside of Reno. In the early morning I hauled up, light on my feet (and my time showed it) a familiar, pine-lined, sandy trail to an alpine pond, and then side-hilled through shaded woods filled with glimmers of sun and occasionally revealing dramatic views of the great sage-studded basin below. I arranged to meet friends halfway through the course. I took a break with them just above a popular dry lake bed destination, ate snacks, laughed, walked for a bit, and then picked back up to complete the run.
Back at my vehicle, I knew it: yes, I was sore and tired, but this was it. I wanted it. And I knew I could do it. I’d clocked fifteen miles and four thousand in elevation gain and loss at a fifteen minute mile. Most importantly, I felt happy. More than happy – I was gleeful, lithe, ready.
Then in August I got Covid and was off my feet for three weeks. Pissed off, once I was sufficiently recovered I got right back to my previous mileage, going for another glorious day-long-run tour in Great Basin National Park.
The following week I ran a casual five miles, just like usual. But that night when I got up to pee I noticed a deep and throbbing pain in my heel that made it difficult to stand. I hobbled to the toilet.
I quickly figured out via Dr. Google that what I had was the dreaded plantar fasciitis. Dreaded because it’s an overuse injury that is slow to heal, and easy to exacerbate. It requires rest from running. I tried to ignore it through September, but every night the pain came back. I finally stopped running at the end of the month, but stubbornly I refused to stop getting significant miles from walking.
Running is my mental health as much as it is physical. I knew – and know – the day would come when it would be too tough on my body to continue, and I was dimly, vaguely prepared for that. But now?! Not now.
The pain didn’t really get better, despite massage, (relative) rest, and compression. Finally, as Christmas approached, I asked Wes to book me a physical therapy appointment as a gift. I knew I wouldn’t prioritize it myself and I just needed someone to do the research, book the appointment, and inform me that I was to go.
He did. And I did. And it was, much to my health care system-burned and cynical self, fantastic. The PT – Jordan at Nevada Physical Therapy – squeezed my appointment in on Christmas Eve-Day, and spent significant time with me. Through some testing, he and we discovered that my left side (plantar) is significantly weaker than my right. He prescribed hip strengthening exercises which, funny enough, are the ones I typically avoid or downplay at the gym because I am least competent at them. Go figure. Now I have to do them three times a week.
But he also didn’t laugh at my goal of completing an ultra this year; in fact he emphasized that clearly we needed to work together to get me healed so I could complete this exciting and motivating goal. He ok’d me to start running again – very moderately, and with careful attention to the impact on my plantar. If the pain exceeded a three on a scale of 1-10, he said, I needed to modify my activity.
I realized that I would heal through the plantar fasciitis, and that I’d done the right thing by staying active throughout. But now I had support, more information, and strength exercises that likely would help correct the underlying problem (in addition to my brazen overdoing it, post-Covid. I had learned the cautionary tale about overtraining the hard way, as many runners do).
So: getting back to turning forty and what I want to do. The easy answer is to throw a big party, but at this phase in my life – and in particular with my geographic mobility, and the fact that the people I love are flung literally across this planet and in various stages of life of their own – that’s not really viable. I don’t want to pin all my expectations on one event.
So this year I’m viewing forty less as one big bash, and more as a bingo card filled with experiences I’d like to have that I fully show up for. The ultra marathon is certainly one of those experiences, and I expect training will fill much of my year. For now, the goal is simply working – slowly, carefully – to build my base back up, one modest run at a time, maxing currently at eight miles total per week. I’ll visit the PT again in the spring to test how I am doing and devise a plan to continue to move me, injury-free, toward my finish line.
Oh – I didn’t say yet! I’m eyeing an ultra marathon in Moab, Utah. It’s a fifty mile course through stunning red rock canyon country in mid-November called the Deadhorse Ultra. Friends in Alaska are considering joining for one of the courses. Wes is also training for it!
It fits the bill timewise, and course-wise, for the kind of long-form outdoor experience I’m after; the course is inspiring to me and will help propel me through what will be mostly difficult, but sometimes euphoric, training. If I prepare similarly to how I approached the iron man, race day will be its own journey buoyed by so many months of challenging training into a once-in-a-lifetime run. I’m respectful of the idea, a bit awed and unnerved by it, and most of all, energized to give this my best shot with all forty years of me supporting me forward.
