I spent a weekend in Colorado Springs this month with our event director, Thys (pronounced like “rice”—only faster). We were attending a USAT Race Director Symposium, and after a few too many hours in conference rooms we headed out for an afternoon run. We made our way over to an unofficial trail that runs up the Mt. Manitou Springs Incline—an old incline railway that has been turned into a trail that climbs 2,100 vertical feet in the distance of a mile.
The view from the bottom was daunting, but at least you could see the top (so we thought). We headed up and I quickly realized this was going to be not a run, but a hike—and a grueling one at that. At 8,000 feet the air felt so thin in my not-yet-acclimatized lungs that the pain of the effort felt like I had a piano on my chest. A distance that normally would take less than 8 minutes took 45 and left everything I had along the rocks and shattered railway.
We got to the top and there was nothing but smiles and appreciation for what we just endured. It felt so good to get all that pain out of me. And knowing I had four miles of downhill to run was enough to recharge my body and mind with energy (I am a much better runner downhill than uphill).
It struck me how all I felt was a sense of awesome freedom as I bounded down the icy trail, even with my lungs and legs spent after a rugged five miles at higher altitude—I loved it and was excited to think of when I could again take on that climb. I wanted to go back to experience the physical and mental struggle.
The idea of “returning to the pain” is a strange one, but important for most of us in the endurance of life itself.
In my case, I don’t think of the pain I felt on a hard trail run like that with resentment. I don’t blame the mountain. I have no awareness that the mountain may blame me—or even judge me.
Although tempted, I don’t blame myself for not being more fit. Though I do want for more endurance so I can enjoy the next time I put myself out there.
By going back again and again—with intentional awareness each time—I discover more of myself and of the place, understanding what it is and why it feels the way it does. The pain becomes more of a companion than an acquaintance.
With the enthusiastic support of my family, I recently signed up for the 2010 Gore-Tex TransRockies Run in Colorado scheduled for August 21–27 (www.transrockiesrun.com). A 6-day two-person team trail run that covers 120 miles between 7500 and 12,500 feet (Ouch!). It will surely be an epic experience unlike any I’ve had to date. Just signing up has already changed the way I think about myself, what I eat, how I sleep, and who I am. In preparation, I am becoming the experience.
I am sure there will be a lot of glorious pain involved during those six days—but I can not wait to see how differently I think after we cross the finish line in Beaver Creek.
Inspire. Perform. Endure.
Steve Lackey, Publisher
