A Reflection on Perseverance

Back on July 4, 2011, I found myself standing at the base of the Telluride Trail outside the small ski town of Telluride, Colorado. I looked up and pondered the task that was before me. Over the next 2 1/2 miles, I would attempt to ascend a trail that rose approximately 3500 vertical feet on a trail that would begin at an altitude of around 7,000'. I was woefully unprepared for this challenge - I had given up running (or, for that matter, any kind of cardiovascular conditioning) years before and signed up for this "race" on a whim. I had recently made the decision to ease back into running again when, while in town for one of my annual trips to my beloved Colorado mountains, I came across a flyer for the inaugural run to the top of the town's gondola stations. "Great!", I thought - thinking this would be a great place to test myself and see where I stood. "It's just hiking. How hard could it be?"

The answer turned out to be, "very difficult." It took me more than 2 hours to climb that trail. I was woefully out of shape, and was battling physical and emotional demons at the time that had me wandering in a wilderness of my own making. I would like to be able to look back with joy and appreciation on what was my first trail race - actually, it was the first time I did anything besides walk on a trail at a leisurely pace. (I hesitate to say it was my first trail run because I did very little, if any, running.)  

Yet this was not the case. It was miserable, gut splitting, painful, and left me breathless and defeated. I put a good face on it, lest I appear to have been beaten by the day. And yet beaten I was. For the moment. I was spent, and took the gondola back down into town.

At the summit....sporting a fake smile, if ever there was one...

One of the reasons that running means so much to me is because it serves in so many ways as a metaphor for life. It teaches courage in times of difficulty, perseverance in the face of defeat, and that even in the darkest days, there can be slow, steady progress forward. When we are broken, we can heal. When we are tired, we can take rest. And when we are lost, or seemingly at the end of what we can do alone, there are others who are there to help us carry our burdens and continue on.

I look back on my morning in Telluride as the first steps of what would be a long, difficult journey. It rekindled my love of running, reminded me how much I missed the pain that accompanies a monumental effort, and would plant the seed in my mind that eventually brought me to the trails for hours (and days) at a time. It would also serve as the first steps out of a deep emotional hole and give me the courage to face some difficult days ahead.

Life takes us to dark places. Sometimes it seems the easiest thing to do is give up, or quit, or lose hope. It seems that we don't have the energy or courage to go on. Yet in these times, we persevere. 

I went back to have another go at that climb this past summer. As I ran (yes, ran) up the trail, my mind fluctuated between the rocks I was dodging and the last time I had attempted this ascent 3 short years ago. It seemed to me as if a lifetime had passed. My mind was at ease and my body was doing what I knew it was meant to do. I moved with purpose, ran where the trail allowed, and pushed the pace. Yet beyond the technical aspects of this run, my heart was at peace. I finished this climb in 40 minutes. Not a speed record, but for me, it was certainly satisfying. As I surveyed the landscape, I was grateful that I was given this "second" chance. And for the sake of this run, and much like my life, I would take full advantage of it. I breezed past the gondola station and ran to the trail on the other side of the mountain, eager to keep going.

3 years later.

Life is never static. I know that difficulties lurk around every turn. Yet in our odd little corner of the running world, there's a phrase that keeps us ultrarunners going - "Relentless Forward Progress". In life, like in running, sometimes that's all you can do.