Reading · Writing On The Run | Adam Condit

It’s unfair to try and give the full picture of what this race was in words. When I say “there are no words”, it’s true. It’s cliche, but very true. Words simply can’t convey what I encountered in the Sawatch mountain range last week July 17-18 at the High Lonesome 100 and I suppose I’ll continue to learn how it impacted me in due time. There are memories, pictures, video, and now some words, but they will do no justice to how this precious week and weekend will be held in my heart forever. An aid station of sorts in my life for my soul.

So … my temptation is give more words than necessary, but I think try to rely on less. In fact, I think that’s what I’m learning. Especially with the help of my wife, “less is more” sometimes preserves the intimacy and fragility of some of our moments out on the trail. Sometimes less footprints through sacred spaces preserve what’s there. Less chatter during a funeral processional gives more honor. And less fanfare over these mountaintops and valleys give me a greater appreciation to what just happened because I can sense and feel and not have to even talk about what I did encounter … presence. Togetherness. With God, with nature, with my family, with the untouched and tender pieces of of my heart as I navigated 100 miles over 6 mountain passes gaining 23,500+ vertical feet between 9,000-13,000 ft altitude over 27 hours. I don’t care much about place or place in spaces like these … it’s presence.

In the leading days of acclimating to the high altitude, there was much time for reflection and to ask “WHY?”. This course and opportunity provides a great stage to honor my father who took us to these mountains years ago. I’m still learning the 100 mile distance and this race felt like a “scary goal” since I signed up for the lottery months ago. But … the ONE thing I kept coming back to was what David asks in Psalm 27 (verse 4). Presence.

One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquirein his temple.

Presence (dwelling) and beauty. I suppose those are the TWO things I was after. And boy, did I get a triple portion of both. So again, my apologies if the rest leaves you underwhelmed … less words is what I’m after. If we’re able to chat in person sometime about it, maybe more of the story can come to life, but for now just trust that God is at work. In me and in you. In small ways and massive life-changing ways. He desires to be WITH you on your journey. He desires to have you JOIN Him in His work. He desires for you to gaze and enjoy BEAUTY along the way - giving you smiles, wiping tears from your eyes, sometimes removing the pain, sometimes holding you amidst the pain, providing a light when there only seems to be darkness, and showing His goodness in every mile - especially the closing and final miles. That’s what He did for me out there.

(All photos above by Mile 90 Photography in conjunction with HL 100)

Instead of recounting every mile & giving a “race recap”, here are a few quick snapshots I remember and how I’ve been thinking of them in hindsight:

The first massive climb (7 miles gaining 4000+ feet) was carefree and delightful with new friends. Although I had seen it 12 days prior, I was dreading it and thought it would be horrific. I suppose expectations are everything sometimes.
The midday heat was creeping in so I would pull into streams and rivers to douse my head, shoulders, and arms with cold water. After my warmest moments and biggest dousing, it wasn’t more than 90 seconds later we encountered …. cold hail. Hail that pelted my hands and face. A few miles later at the top of the ridge? Pure bliss in the sun. I suppose things can change quite quickly in life.
Every time I’d climb near 12,000 feet my stomach would turn. Eating schedules would have to wait. Dry heaving and a few full-stomach-emptying pukes ensued every few hours. “The plan” became a thing of the past. Less oxygen, less blood in the stomach for digestion, less comfort … nausea was natural and “drink high / eat low” was a helpful pivot. I suppose being able to do more with less for a few seasons of life is something we all encounter.
The night. I was nervous about going all the way through the night in the dark. Especially when I started the worst / hardest / most grueling climb (the sixth of six over 12k ft) called “the headwall” up to 12,500 ft at ~60 miles. It was “the crux” of the race and I didn’t even get to see the grandeur of what I was climbing. Only my headlamp showing 10 feet of trail in front of me … and other headlamps. I looked up and could faintly see the zig-zags of switchbacks via the other lamps ahead of me. I suppose there’s a certain comfort in life knowing your difficult time in the dark is also being traversed by others. A certain shared suffering doesn’t mean our stories are the same, but the awful beautiful experience of hardship can be common and encouraging when you have others on the trail with you.
Speaking of others …. my pacers. Oh my pacers. Alicia took me 15+ miles (miles 68-83) through the night and was as much professional as partner. A true companion. Letting me set the pace, getting me to eat again, and helping me run faster than I had all day. We saw second sunrise together. We took time to crap / pee in the woods together. We let it unfold. We had highs and lows and she embodied on the trail what she has shown me the last 15 months through times of grief … “Am I doing it right? I don’t know if I’m saying the right things” …. “I don’t need the perfect words, or any words. I just need you by my side.” Less words. More presence. My partner through the dark.
More pacers … At sunrise Shane took me from mile 83 to the end (his longest run!) and Leo joined us for the last four miles. I sense these miles have literally changed my life. They helped me accept the cold hard fact of the last 15 months … dad’s not here. He’s not. Your childhood is gone. Enjoy being nostalgic, but don’t live in the past. The present has much PRESENCE & BEAUTY to be had. Don’t always look back; look around. We ran the whole last four miles (including the last mile’s 8% grade & 400+ ft incline) and most of the last 17 miles … we passed 20 people in the final miles I paced with others (8 with Alicia, 12 with the boys). I suppose finishing strong is something I’ve thought much about and dad’s legacy has given us a solid example of fighting strong right up to the very final and closing miles and minutes.
Pictures … many of the pictures are professional and amazing from Mile 90 Photography. Although some of my favorites are candid from somebody that doesn’t get much (or want much) attention: my daughter. She took on camera duties for the weekend so she’s not in many photos - so similar to dad. She also mentioned to me afterwards, “I think I want to be a photographer more and more!”. I suppose my love for running doesn’t have to be their love for running. I love that little girl all the same as she does gymnastics, shoots photos, and wakes up in my house with messy hair.

I suppose God calls us to our own trail on our own time. One of presence and beauty. One of euphoria and smiles and mountaintop moments. One of trial and darkness and valleys all the same. But one must remember as David does in Psalm 139 …

⁹If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
¹⁰even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
¹¹If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
¹²even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.