In creating a blog for myself, one thing that I did not intend to do is to spend time commenting on or critiquing other peoples' blogs. As far as I am concerned everyone is entitled to their feelings on whatever subject or subjects about which they choose to write. Yet I have noticed a theme on a couple of running-related blogs I frequent and in some podcasts I have heard in relation to the sport of ultrarunning - or more specifically, how its past relates to its present and, possibly, its future.
I have observed that there are a number of runners in this community who lament the loss of the intimacy and fringe-nature of the sport. There was a day when races were a low-key, low-cost affair. Finisher swag often included a chair or a bench to sit on and a pat on the back. Race organization would consist of a loose chain of individuals who would promote an event largely by word-of-mouth. The so-called "elites" of the sport were readily accessible at races, would drink a beer with you after a race, and often work aid stations, pace, and welcome back-of-the-pack finishers at races as they ran, walked, or crawled across the finish line. It was a sport that lived on the margins, to be sure, and many of the crazy personalities who inhabited it over the years have unintentionally become its "legends".
As the years have passed, the sport has grown exponentially. This is due to a myriad of factors - namely, individuals who have drawn attention to their accomplishments in endurance races, social networks that have connected runners across the country and around the world, and the proliferation of online videos and movies that have chronicled the feats of the ultrarunning community set against the backdrop of spectacular landscapes and almost indescribable natural beauty. The numerous books that have been written about the lives of endurance athletes have become standard bookshelf material for those of us who aspire to populate the same trails over which these great runners left their mark.
With this growth has come some unintended consequences. Well-known races that were once easy to enter are now oversold well in advance, and have even been forced to enact lotteries in selecting participants. Those that did not cap entries often found themselves overwhelmed with participants who were not prepared for the challenges they were going to face; further, some did not display proper etiquette out on the trails. Corporate sponsors have become the norm, promoting elite athletes who can train year-round for events that offer ever-growing financial incentives for top finishers. Large corporations bought out iconic races from the local founders and directors, and some of the "folksy" feel and homegrown support around these burgeoning races began to vanish. And (much to my chagrin), trail running has even been featured in a cheap beer commercial. Ultrarunning has become big business.
When I learned about the sport just a couple of short years ago after reading the seminal ultrarunning book "Born To Run", I felt as if I had found my calling. I rediscovered my love of running, realizing that there was a brand new world for me to explore. I watched every video on the subject I could find and was enamored by the online adventures of Anton Krupicka, Sebastian Chigneau and Kilian Jornet. I could not wait to enter my first race and knew that, should fate smile upon me, this was to become the primary pursuit of any and all my free time.
I myself am grateful for those who shared the sport over various media and opened my eyes to the possibilities of getting off the roads and running long distances in nature. I've been challenged to do more than I ever thought I could and in turn feel as if I have found an activity that is well-suited to my personality. While there are those who would look down upon the videos, books, and stories as shameless self-promotion (and maybe some of it is), I can't thank enough the runners who embraced this media as a way to share the sport with me. I have been hooked since the day I saw this in an airport bookstore:
As a relative newcomer to the sport, I hear what the veterans are saying and I take their concerns to heart. There is a lot that can be read into them if one takes a moment to look below the surface. Trail races and ultras have always placed tremendous emphasis on the value of EVERY participant. Whether in first place or last, trail races celebrate camaraderie in the best sense of the word. Seconds and minutes off of one's time are lost in the hours upon hours spent on a course. Friendships are formed and strengthened out there through the shared effort and unique kind of suffering that only the runner can understand. Further, time on these trails brings one closer to (and in some cases, face-to-face with) nature at it's most raw and unforgiving. If one can't gain a healthy respect for nature and her majesty after spending 30 hours or more wandering through her vast expanses alone with very limited aid and support then it may not be possible to attain it!
Now that I have had the opportunity to participate in a few events myself (as a runner and as a volunteer) I am beginning to understand what the "vets" are talking about. I see it at every race - friendships are formed or renewed, sacrifices are made, experiences are shared - and I am inspired. For my part, I am learning and hopefully putting the best spirit of trail running into practice myself. I make it a point to thank volunteers and go out of my way to help others in any way I can. And I try to smile. A lot. I'm far from perfect - I'm not naturally the most outgoing person in the world - but I try. And I notice a lot of other people trying, too.
Perhaps we may never go back to the fringe-sport mentality that pervaded ultrarunning a decade ago. But there are a ton of fantastic people who have taken to the trails, most of whom I think "get it". I only hope I can be as gracious an ambassador for the sport I enjoy so much as many of them have been. Change can be good, and hopefully the waves of newcomers like me will stop to listen and learn a thing or two from our cagey veteran friends. The next time I'm out there I plan to do just that - preferably with a beer in hand, in a chair, at a finish line.
