7:02 pm I am stumbling over a few rocks on the trail. My headlight will not work, and it is now pitch black. The stars are out and casting eerie shadows from the sage and other sparse vegetation in the area. This is my 13th hour of running on this trail, and I am now ascending the final slope before the finish. I am hanging on by a single tiny thread.
We all like to brag that ‘we never give up’ as a way to confirm to ourselves and others that we are indeed brave and stalwart in our bold attempt to accomplish some great task. Do we really know what this means? Do we really understand what it means to be stretched so thin that you snap and then, only then, pick yourself back up and try again? Never giving up is an attitude for the comfortable. Sheer determination and will to overcome adversity are learned. Always the hard way.
Sophomore year in high school, I signed up for the Cross Country team because my mom said I had long legs and might be good at it. I wasn’t. At my first race, at my first meet, I rounded the corner to enter back onto the track to find that my race had ended already, and they were quickly lining up for the next heat. My side hurt, my legs hurt, my brain hurt. I was embarrassed, so rather than face the humiliation of crossing the finish line where all the girls were lining up for their run, I just walked off the course. My coach found me later red in the face and, spewing a frothy foam from his lips, yelled, “We Never Give Up!” I did. I turned around and ended my amateur running career. 2 weeks in, and I was done. I was not to be PRE; rather, I signed up for the Mock Trial team instead.
After crawling through the rocks for 100 feet or so, I finally figured out that if I squeezed the case of my headlamp, I could get the light to work. The light was dim; it was so cold on the plateau that the new batteries were almost drained. However, I could now at least see the rocks just before me. A glimmer of hope. I pushed on, body screaming at me, my brain completely numb; I started running again. I was nauseous. I was tired. I was delirious. I could make out the lights of the finish line several miles up on the top of the ridge.
I never really understood what ‘never give up’ meant. That coach who yelled at me soon became a distant memory, and I plowed ahead, bouncing from one adventure to the next, quitting each one when the going got tough. Several years ago, on the year I would turn 48, I decided to make a commitment to run every day. This was the thing that sucked the most for me, so naturally, I wanted to punish myself severely for being slothful. So I ran every day for a year. Soon, I started running races. I finished a half and a full marathon and enjoyed nice 30-mile runs on Saturday mornings. I decided I would run an ultra marathon, a 50 miler, before I turned 50. Seemed poetic.
Watch my video on ‘Never give up’, here
Stumbling slowly, my running gait had become nothing more than a shuffle up the dirt path. I could now see a bobbing headlamp behind me, the woman I had passed on mile 35 in what seemed like an eternity ago. I was starting to feel a bit hopeless. I might have even been crying had I not been so dehydrated. I was shivering cold, and I was trying to put on some small gloves that I had bought at a gas station at 3 am that morning. Speaking of which, it was at that moment I heard a noise just behind me. I was starting to hallucinate for sure, but that is when I saw her. Desert Rat Chick.
Truth be told, I was not very prepared for my first ultra-marathon. At one time, I ran at least 70 miles per week, but the week before the race, I had fallen back to at most 30. I was not feeling well. I was lethargic for some reason, and my right hip hurt. I was running less, and consequently, I had put on a few pounds. I was putting a good face on it, but in reality, I was fearful that I would have that ominous DNF next to my name rather than getting a parting medallion. I did not sleep the night before; I was too nervous. I also forgot about the time change, so when I crossed the Nevada border, I was an hour early. I stopped at a gas station, where I met Desert Rat Chick. I was buying a sausage and egg sandwich, and she bought a box of honey nut Cheerios. I had signed up for this race a year ago. She just decided to sign up a week ago. I bought a cheap pair of gloves, and she bought a cheap tourist ball cap. I was worried about the freezing cold that I was not prepared for. She was worried about getting too sunburned. The course was 50 miles. I was completing a 50 miler, she was completing a 100 miler.
So she was lapping me just at the end of the 50-mile course. That is right, Desert Rat Chick would go on to win the 100 miler and finish almost faster than I would complete the 50 if I ever got up this hill. She stayed with me for a moment, giving me some encouragement, and then, with an exclamation point, tore off into the darkness at a rapid pace. I felt lifted a bit, and with that small boost, I started running again. I was going to finish. I was going to complete this torture and collapse the moment that I did. When I got to the finish line, they offered me a chair by the fire, which I took. Knowing that I may never get up. They offered me food, and one look at it started me heaving with nausea. I drank a sip of water, and they handed me a 3rd-place placard and took my photo. I will tell my grandkids I came in 3rd place, but I will not tell them there were only 8 people in my category.
So I finished. I never gave up. I now know precisely what that actually means. When you promise that you will never give up, you are indicating that you will continue on your course no matter what happens. Even after complete and utter failure, you will still pick yourself up and finish. You can only experience this if you take on something at such a large risk that failure is inevitable. In fact, multiple failures are on the horizon, and misery will be your only companion. I may not have done a David Goggins-style challenge, but I certainly did a Guy Reams challenge, and that was more than what was possible for me. I did something that I was not capable of. That is what never give up means. Take on something that is not possible and keep at it until the impossible becomes reality.
I am grateful for the Desert Rat Chicks out there, and I really wish I could find that Cross Country teacher and tell him that, yes, I finally, after all these years, finished the race.
I saw a Subaru yesterday with a 13.1, 26.2, 50, and 100 sticker on the back. It was a sign. I will never give up.
