Forged in Fire

Several years ago, during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, I was recently removed from what had been nearly two decades dedicated to the sport of wrestling.

This period of my life has been well-covered through previous pieces of mine – feel free to go back and read up on “Believe In Yourself” or “Saved By A Shoe” for additional context.

That said, during a time of so much uncertainty and confusion, while in the midst of a desperate search for something new to pursue outside of my schooling and personal relationships, I latched onto something most consider to be foolish at best – ultra marathon running.

As an individual who had never run more than a few miles at a time, one particular YouTube Video drew me in and captured my headspace. I was sold on the premise of pushing my body to new limits.

The video, titled “LIFE IN A DAY” by Billy Yang, covers the happenings throughout the 2017 Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run – something I now recognize as the “mecca” of ultra-running.

This video reeled me in for a number of reasons. I had never seen anything quite like it. A marathon had always seemed outlandish to me – so, you’re telling me people go even further? Like, 70+ miles further?

My head couldn’t quite comprehend such an endeavor – I vividly remember thinking to myself that there was no way I could ever do such a thing, yet simultaneously I knew that I needed to.

And so it began.

Beginning with an old pair of running shoes from High School, I set out to run two miles (minimum) each day, for a full calendar year. To cap off those 365 days, I’d run 36.5 miles, in true Covid fashion, by myself – my first Ultra-Marathon.

The year came and went, and in an incredibly ill-prepared manner, I logged 36.5 miles and successfully added “ultra-marathoner” to the resume.

If the initial viewing of Yang’s viral documentary was the hook, this moment was the sinker. I was elated, and knew within moments of finishing that I wanted to pursue something further.

Upon some (brief) research, I landed on the 100 kilometer distance as my next adventure. Now on the other side of the global pandemic, this would be my first organized ultra race. 

Little tidbits at a time, I began to pick up on some things. My knowledge base was growing, albeit slowly, at a steady pace. Training plans, nutrition, recovery – you name it, I was fixated on understanding and applying the proper processes, much more than the first go-round.

In due time, my first race-day arrived, and I emerged rather un-scathed, with a reasonable time for my first 100K. Yet again, excited but unsatisfied.

And so, just a few days later, I registered for my first 100 mile race. 

Here is where a happy-go-lucky story would go on to say that I trained for another year and proceeded to crush that first 100 mile attempt with ease. 

This isn’t that kind of story. Not quite so simple.

In reality, I did train for another calendar year. Nearly one year to the day. Truth be told, I felt outstanding. Everything had been done the “right way.” I had my fitness dialed in beyond what it had ever been, and yet that given day spiraled out of control.

On what became an excruciatingly hot day (100+ temps), my body lost it at or around mile 45. With the pressing conditions, paired with a questionable choice of nutrition at the 40-mile aid station (a gas-station cheeseburger), it wasn’t long before the vomit began to spray. One round of puke after another, my system was hell-bent on clearing itself out, in a likely attempt at combating the spiked temperatures. Soon enough, I found myself dealing with extreme levels of dehydration, full-body cramping, and a state of mind that was worsening by the step.

This, in nearly every sense of what it had become, was not something I had prepared for. 

And so, as you’re likely able to presume, it was many hours later that I hobbled into the 100-kilometer aid station. Night had fallen. My body was hanging on, but my mind was too-far-gone. 

The many layers to this scenario ultimately led me to the decision of pulling myself from the race, and living to fight another day. It was over.

On the other end of this event, I took some much needed time to heal up and to reflect on what had gone down. I was, admittedly, not in the best headspace. Emotions were at a surplus – frustrated, angry, disappointed, embarrassed – to name a few. 

Several months went by. I had lost most if not all interest in running. It was out of sight, out of mind. My energy and efforts were directed elsewhere, which I now recognize as a blessing in disguise.

As time continued to tick on by, I felt a shift back toward running. The intrigue had returned, but in a much different way. I was no longer fully infatuated with all of the finer intricacies, but rather interested in returning to chase down what I had initially set out to do. 

I thought back to what first sparked the love, years before – the dream of completing a 100-mile footrace. 

I had attempted, and I’d come up short.

I experienced the sense of defeat, allowed it to run its course, and at last felt the spark once more to take another hack at this goal that I’d mentally set for myself. 

Though my running fitness had been greatly depleted, my head was in the right place. It was time to get registered for another go, and so I did just that.

This time, with nine-ish months to prepare, the desired outcome remained the same: cross the finish line. 

Slowly but surely, training commenced and I was back on the tracks. Into the swing of things without much of a hitch, I approached things somewhat differently than in years past. The unnecessary added stresses were gone. It was now out of a place of love that I was on this trek. Not to check all of the imaginary boxes, but to focus on what was truly important whilst trusting my mind and body to do what was best in any given moment.

With a refreshed attitude and a more well-defined set of priorities, I felt well on my way to redemption.

Enough time had passed, and November 23rd, 2024 had arrived. Everything that had come before this moment led me to Jester Park in Granger, Iowa at 6:00am to tackle 100 miles by foot.

I was exactly where I was supposed to be at that very moment.

The day began, my thoughts were clear and I was prepared for whatever might lay ahead.

One mile at a time, I pressed forward through the cold November air. Sticking, to the best of my capabilities, to the task at hand. 

Roughly 28 miles in, I began to experience an inevitable low. Things, as you might imagine, start to become real at this stage of a race of this magnitude. My legs were starting to feel it, and my gut was ever-so-slightly giving me some troubles. 

Soon, though, I was able to reset for a few minutes at the 30-mile aid station. A quick gear swap and a moment to collect my thoughts was just what the doctor ordered, and I was right back to it. With just 20 miles remaining on my own before the ability to pick up a pacer, it was around this point in time that I was convinced the day was mine for the taking and that I was going to seal the deal.

Things continued to improve throughout the next few hours, and the time had come to pick up one of my closest friends, Alec. A former teammate and roommate turned fox-hole brother and someone who holds me accountable in every corner of my life. 

Over many hours, through some additional peaks and valleys, great conversation, pit-stops for prayer, and even a period of continued bouts of falling asleep while out on the trail, we covered 30 miles together. 

It was the middle of the night, and I had 20 miles remaining.

For what was left of the race, I was joined by another extremely important person in my life, Nic. We’ve covered this friendship a time or two throughout my many blog posts here on Forged in Fire, but it must be said once more that this relationship has transformed my life in so many ways. The list of memories we’ve shared together through the sport of ultra-running is ever-growing and this was yet another opportunity to add to it.

One foot in front of another, we traversed the course for just a few more hours.

Thinking back on what had occurred just 15 months prior, with the same friend by my side, these moments were all the more palpable. 

Together, we closed in on the end of this chapter.

After 25 hours and some change, I crossed the finish-line.

Many years of sacrifice, mental gymnastics, and physical turmoil funneled into this outstanding moment in time. 

None of this was done alone, and there was no greater feeling than the ability to share it with two of my closest friends, those who helped to crew throughout the day, and most of all my greatest supporter and the one who has believed in me through so many stages in this life of mine – embracing my beautiful wife on the other side of the finish-line.

It was over, and the long-standing goal had been accomplished.

At last, I can say that I truly experienced life in a day.

With the help of so many along the way, as someone who once hated the thought of running a single mile, I’m proud to say that I’ve successfully checked this feat off the bucket list. 

Thanks be to God and his will to act this out in my life.

Until the next one.

Forge On.

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