36.7 miles into a 50-mile foot race* I sat in a chair and pondered the half-marathon that lay ahead. I thought of the hundreds (thousands?) of miles I had trained — hours and hours of mind-numbing, body-crippling shuffles through the dark cold of winter. I thought of the money I had spent on the entry to this event. I thought of the fact that I had already suffered through more than 35 miles of heat and pain. Why in the world would I stop now? The answer? Because it would feel good. But it would also feel awful.
So when my wife asked the direct question, “Are you going to keep going?” the only answer I could bring myself to give was a heavy sigh and a resigned “Yes.”
Long story short: I finished. And it ended up being a couple of miles more than the half-marathon I expected — a full double-marathon in total miles. But this isn’t a story of triumph over adversity. No. This is a post-mortem. This is an analysis of questionable decision-making driven by sunk cost.
My goal with running has always been to go big. It seems that if I’m going to spend the time to train, a war of attrition is a much more interesting test of the machine than 30 minutes on any given Saturday in the suburbs. I started with a marathon as my first race. I’ve always had the Leadville Trail 100 in the back of my mind as the ultimate test. That’s changing.
It’s been a few days since the North Fork 50. I’ve had time to recover from the physical and mental trauma, to reflect, to discuss. On the one hand I’m glad to have the accomplishment of the 50-miler under my belt. It’s a checked box. Done. On the other hand, I’m not sure that I like what I learned about myself. Given my experience of 50 miles, I’m not sure that I would ever actually want to go for 100. And I really don’t think that’s my knee pain talking. The training required just to even think that it’s physically possible is so awfully time-consuming…Is that really how I want to spend that time? I don’t even really like running. I mean, I like the fact that I can run a long way. And I like that it keeps me in shape. But the running itself? It’s a means to an end.
But to what end? To know that I stayed the course regardless of the cost? It’s like a highway construction project that goes 2 years longer and $2B more than expected only to be outgrown by the time it’s finished. This calls into question my personal mantra: Commit. Maybe commitment can’t stand alone. Perhaps the end must be constantly re-evaluated against the commitment required.
Am I glad I did it? It’s hard to say. I suppose it was the only way I could learn — the hard way. I guess I’m glad to have the accomplishment. I’m also disappointed that I’ll probably never attempt 100 miles. But I’m also glad that I’ll probably never attempt 100 miles. There’s freedom in that idea. But if not that goal, then what? That’s the next thing to ponder I suppose.
*I use the term “race” loosely. This was more of a long run that I paid to run with a bunch of strangers. I also use the term “run” loosely. There’s a lot of walking in this type of event for me.
