Weekend LONG Run

If there were a guarantee of success when we embarked on lofty goals the challenge wouldn’t exist. The whole thrill of stepping into the unknown is the unknown itself… it’s where we discover new versions of ourselves, where the layers are so pulled back and raw that we can’t escape the truths they show us.

100 miles is a very long way, and as I stepped into it quietly, in the dark early morning I wondered who I would meet on the other side.

How would this journey change me, what version of myself would I meet along the way, would there be various incarnations?

That first sunrise was special, it was calm, still, even warm for a winter morning, but what moved me was the solitude. I was alone, and settling into the rhythm of the course as the suns rays slowly wrapped their way over the peaks and onto the flats of the farmland while magpies warbled and kangaroos grazed, looking at me curiously. There’s something about a winters morning that transports me to my childhood, the smell of the cool air, and the promise of a new day… even in the solitude I felt totally connected.

The allure of an ultra marathon is the promise that anything, absolutely anything can happen. The one guarantee is that there are no guarantees, and I’d suggest that leaning into that particular discomfort isn’t all that hard. In fact it’s often a footnote to any athletes experience, but understanding it and feeling it aren’t always intertwined… sometimes the discomfort is loud and obnoxious and hard to travel alongside, and discomfort is a shapeshifter.

During the day, the energy and mood ebbed and flowed, there were tears of overwhelming gratitude, there were a few grunts as I ground my way through climbs, some frustrations, and some giggles… the daylight hours were somewhat of a known, despite mental and physical hurdles, there were people on trail, conversations and spotting friends, passing high fives and a buzz… I was already pretty well acquainted with this version of myself. We were just getting started.

Going into the night was always going to raise some stuff, I’m not afraid of the night running, there’s a slight comfort at focusing on the beam of light in front of you, but the night distorts time, and even distance. Sleep deprivation compounds and then the caffeine pulls you back with a force that slaps you in the face, the space between emotions shrinks and one minute you’re crying and coughing and wishing for the darkness to wrap itself around you and take you with it, then you’re in hysterics at the silliness of the shape of a shrub. Thank goodness for pacers.

There were promises of hallucinations, which were dashed by the academia of practicality that torchlight, shadows and organic objects will in fact look different at night. There were moments when I ran, feeling so proud of myself only to look across at my pacer in a fast hike… “Look at me, I’m so speedy!” And still, the darkest hour is before the dawn, and despite some laughs, some hard truths and what looked like resilience on the surface, doubt was beginning to get very loud.

Caffeine.

Sunrise.

Second wind.

6/8 loops

Complete Crash Out.

Force fed food, and sent up that damn climb…

133km’s.

DNF.

But still, the question… who would I meet on the other side of this? Would I like this version of myself, would I recognise her, would she be proud of me?

The answer:

The woman I met on the other side, after 133km’s, 3,700m elevation, 33 hours on feet; was beautiful. She was everything I admired in others. She was strong, brave, passionate, proud, and LOVED.

Loved by her friends, family and partner, loved by the people who stepped in and pushed her through, loved by the trail community that rallied around her and held her in the moment, but most of all, she LOVED HERSELF.

She didn’t see someone who couldn’t, she saw someone who tried, who took up space, who belonged in this space and no longer apologised for entering the room. She saw a woman who knew her worth, a woman who’s worth was not dependant on an outcome… and a woman who would confidently continue to show up.

She met Emily, FULL f***ing STOP.