running for fun

I’ve always believed Europeans, mainly because their societies have been around longer, tend to be ahead of the curve in the search for meaning. Last night, this post about a trend in European endurance sports reinforced my theory . . . and made me squirm.

The picture below is a scene from ÖTILLÖ , an absolutely bonkers island to island race in Sweeden, which is largely responsible for a trend called “swimrunning.” The race is essentially one and a half Ironman runs in a wetsuit, and 3 Ironman swims in your running shoes, but it’s so much more than mileage.

It’s the furthest thing you can imagine from laying in your aero bars or running through city streets with no change of scenery. They forge the elements with one eye on your partner, the other on survival.

Over the 2-plus years of my training, most discussions I’ve endured have been about pace or distance. Rarely what we saw or experienced.

It’s almost impossible for me to swim, bike, or run without knowing my mileage or speed. I have literally gotten depressed when my Garmin battery died on a run.

The article also talks about the obsession for making a race fit to a certain distance rather than adapt to the terrain. It reminded me of the controversy at Ironman Chattanooga, where the bike course is four miles longer than a typical Ironman. Few say anything about where they “get to bike,” it’s all about the distance, time, cutoff and . . . the medal.

Some nights I Google “Most amazing triathlons,” or “Coolest runs” and click through the pictures in awe. The eery mood of a swim, the wild terrain of mountain trails, the breathtaking views from the bike. These are the pictures that grab my attention when I’m at a computer, but when I’m in the actual scenery, I tend to look at my watch or 10 feet in front of my face at a hazy mix of concrete and gravel.

ENDURE:

1. suffer (something painful or difficult) patiently.

2. remain in existence; last.

Exercise gives me that natural high I can’t get enough of, but masochism is only temporary satisfaction.

So, I swim, bike, and run further and further. Then conquer ungodly distances like an Ironman, twice. Now what?

Maybe ÖTILLÖ.

Note: I wrote this many moons ago, but never posted it.

I am still reading Born to Run and it is an absolute gem of a novel. There is one great story after another, loaded with compelling thoughts on running as well as life. It is especially intriguing to me right now because I am still hobbling a bit after relatively short runs compared to the distances they talk about in this book, which routinely exceed 50 miles at a crack.

Now, I realize I wasn’t “born to run,” or was I? The last chapter I read is mainly focused on the zen of running and what is going on in the mind of the Tarahumara as they glide across the the hilliest of terrain. The thing most people notice when watching Tarahumara run is how happy they seem.

There is a great story, told by Kenneth Chlouber, the founder of one of the world’s most treacherous trail runs, The Leadville 100, that summed it up for me.

Chlouber was hanging out at the 60 mile mark where medical staff checks vitals of runners that reach that point. He said most are starting to get angry by then. The terrain is pulverizing and after getting clearance to continue, runners must hike up a very steep dirt hill to get back on the trail. He said most runners struggle and often crawl to the trail, but the Tarahumara were climbing it like kids, smiling and laughing while they sort of skipped their way to the top.

It was literally like they were still kids. That impulse to have fun while you run had never left them. They ran to run and while the race was clearly a race, they never thought of it that way. It was a new adventure.

Tag: running for fun

After Ironman, Try This . . .

Run Like a Kid #running