The Ego in Adventure
Why the hell am I out here? What am I trying to prove? If nobody knew what I was doing, would I still be doing it? The reality is, nobody cares how many miles you ran, how much vert you did, how fast you did it, or how high you climbed. Are you doing it for the Strava kudos? For the Instagram post? Or is there a deeper meaning to pursuing voluntary pain and suffering? The Ego is quick to defend its actions, but I invite you to reflect and dive deeper into your “why”.
The Pain of Letting Go
As I sit and write, the dull pain from the stress fracture in my right heel radiates up my leg, begging for answers. Where did I go wrong? Am I not strong enough? Am I a bad personal trainer? Will I ever be able to run again? Injuries are something no athlete wants to face; however, they are the greatest catalyst to physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual growth. These periods of non-activity are mandated by the body due to some imbalance in your approach. Maybe you did too much too fast. Maybe you weren’t getting enough rest and sleep. Maybe you were letting important relationships fade. Even if you struggle to find meaning when you’re in the trenches, it will become clear as day in retrospect.
Chasing the SOB 100k
While the hairline fissures in my calcaneus made walking any distance painful, the pain from pulling out of an event I had been training for all year was far more excruciating. But why? Nobody really cares. Perhaps a handful of friends, family, and clients even knew that I had plans to run the SOB 100k. The “why” is a question that should be heavily considered by all who chase challenging endurance efforts. You may find it easy to answer these questions immediately: a way to challenge oneself, have a new experience, build community, or stay motivated to stay in shape. These are precisely the reasons why many of us participate in such events. While these are compelling reasons to spend $250 to sign up to run alongside hundreds of other people for some arbitrary distance on some arbitrary date, don’t let the Ego drive your decision-making.
For several months, I had been preparing for the SOB 100k, a notoriously challenging ultra trail race in the mountains above Ashland, Oregon. While I don’t necessarily consider myself a “runner,” let alone an “ultra runner,” I genuinely love running in the mountains. For the last five years, I average between 500-600 miles each year and usually participate in one or two local race events. This year, I was looking for a bigger challenge—something I could really sink my teeth into, get dialed in with my training, and show up on a one hundred degree day in July and absolutely crush it on a gnarly course.
Pushing Through Pain
As I increased my running load to 10-12 miles per week, mountain guiding season loomed. From April to June, I worked four mountaineering trips and helped facilitate new guide training with Shasta Mountain Guides. Mountain guiding can be bone-crushing work (no pun intended). Carrying a heavy backpack, post-holing in deep snow, sleeping on snow at high altitude, 1am wake-ups, managing fatigued guests, preparing meals, and keeping stoke high make for some long days on the mountain. In my prior six seasons of guiding, I had never given much attention to all the nuances of the job that made it much more difficult than just climbing a mountain.
After getting down from the mountain, it takes a solid three to four days for full muscle recovery, rehydration, and resetting my circadian clock. But I didn’t have that kind of time to rest; it was time to run (or so I thought). Regardless of how fatigued or sore I was, I was determined to log those damn miles! The day after a grueling 15-hour summit climb, I laced up my shoes and headed up the steepest street in Ashland for an afternoon “recovery run.”
In the 60 days leading up to early July, I ran 220 miles, clocking over 77,000 feet of elevation gain. The running felt effortless; my cardio was through the roof, and my legs were feeling very strong with a couple of days of cross-training each week. I studied the SOB course meticulously, sampling large sections of its punishing climbs and technical descents during each long training run. After a long 30-miler on the PCT, I looked forward to a planned 20-day taper.
The Breaking Point
During all of this training, I started to develop pain in my right foot and heel. I didn’t think much of it because it didn’t bother me while running, and after some rolling and stretching in the mornings, the pain would subside—just in time for me to pound a few more hours on it. The pain, of course, continued to worsen. The farther I ran, the more I would suffer the next day. The morning after the Ashland Hill Climb, a fun 13-miler with 5200 feet of elevation gain, I woke up and hobbled to the bathroom, unable to bear any weight on my foot. All the massage gunning, lacrosse balling, and foot stretching in the world didn’t seem to make a difference anymore. I fully embraced rest and gave it space to cool down.
But when training for an ultra, you can’t afford to take 20 days off from running. The body adapts quickly, especially when you stop doing something. So I did my best to keep up my running with shorter 3 to 10-mile efforts a few days a week, but the pain was only getting worse. Even hiking on it was problematic, and doubt began to lodge itself deep within my mind. Despite reading both of David Goggins’ books and doing my best to “Stay Hard”, I knew something was not right. I am all for pushing through pain and enduring some suffering, but if walking 5 miles is painful, how the hell am I going to run 62? I decided it was time to get a second opinion.
The Easiest Hard Decision
After explaining my symptoms, it was clear that I was most likely dealing with a stress fracture on my calcaneus, an overuse injury resulting in microfissures in the spongy part of the bone. While the X-ray came back negative, an MRI is the only way to accurately diagnose a stress fracture. My first question, of course, was, “Can I still run the SOB?” With a grimace of pain, and then a smile, the doctor said, “Well, it depends.” Not the answer any athlete wants to hear. He explained that stress fractures, like most boney injuries, take up to 6-8 weeks to heal. The more I continue to run on it, the more damage I can do, exponentially increasing recovery time. While I could push through the pain and run 62 miles on a broken heel, he said I would likely be non-weight bearing for some time and not fully recover for 3-4 months after the race.
After my doctor visit, I went on one final run to see what I could tolerate. I did a standard 6-mile loop with 1500 feet of elevation gain. I hadn’t run in five days, and it felt amazing to be sweating in the hot July sun. The start was painful, but on the climb I was virtually pain-free, and the Ego said, “Mikey, you are gonna run the SOB, stress fracture or not!” Then came the descent. Although I am not a heel-striker and have been practicing ChiRunning for several years, there is undeniably more impact going downhill than up. Within the first few hundred feet of descent, I knew I was toast. The sensation of warm, wet fluid dripped down my cheek—unsure if it was tears or sweat. While this race was important to me, nothing is more important than being able to spend time with friends and family in the mountains for many decades to come. I knew that running this race would set me back for the longevity of life on the trails.
Just seven days out, I emailed the race director with my final decision to pull out of the SOB this year. I was disappointed, embarrassed, and felt a deep sense of loss. As a personal trainer who coaches people for endurance activities, I felt I had failed myself and my entire community of athletes by getting injured. But where do these emotions come from? The Ego, of course. Luckily, I was heading out on a mellow and relaxing backpacking and fly fishing trip with my dad, which allowed for plenty of reflection and stillness. Deep in the wilderness, lulled into peace by the majestic sounds of the Smith River, I pulled out my journal and wrote:
“As I gaze at the Siskiyou Sky on a hot, windless evening on the Kelsey Trail, I look intently for even the slightest movement from the towering firs. Not even the lichen that sags from its branches has a hint of motion. When there is wind, flow, the trees and branches sway and vibrate with ease. When there is no wind, the trees stand still, firmly rooted in stillness. They don’t mind either way. Resistance, forcing, and non-acceptance are rooted in fear and serve no purpose in growth, until let go. What would the Sage do? The Sage would not run because he has nothing to prove, not even to himself. Arguably, it is much harder for the ego to let go and move on than it is to endure more suffering, in avoidance of mental and emotional pain. I choose stillness, love and acceptance. There will be times for doing and being, choose wisely. For each state is necessary in life for you to BE your higher self.”
Reflection
This experience forced me to go within and search for answers, similar to when I was diagnosed with epilepsy. The uncertainty and fear can only be transmuted by going within. For me, this meant daily meditation, long yin yoga sessions, and acupuncture to reset energy pathways in the body. During this journey, I found myself grappling with a rollercoaster of emotions. Mentally, the initial blow of my injury felt like a significant setback, sparking feelings of frustration, disappointment, and self-doubt. As a personal trainer, I questioned my competence and felt a sense of shame, fearing I had let my clients down. Emotionally, it was challenging to accept that my body needed rest when my mind was fixated on achieving my goal. To cope, I leaned heavily on my support systems. My family, friends, and clients offered unwavering support and reminded me of my worth beyond my athletic achievements. Conversations with fellow athletes who had faced similar setbacks provided solace and perspective. I also turned to mindfulness practices like meditation and journaling to process my emotions and reflect on my journey. These practices helped me find peace amidst the turmoil and allowed me to reconnect with the deeper reasons I pursue such challenges.
I feel the most alive when I’m alone in the mountains, borderline lost, on a poorly maintained trail. I love its simplistic nature: a water bottle, a pair of shoes, your body and mind. I have been overcome by gratitude and joy to the point of tears many times while experiencing the freedom of floating down a steep, technical trail. I have had some of my most creative thoughts and realizations while shuffling up relentless climbs. I don’t listen to music while I run; rather, I listen to my breathing, cadence, and the sounds of nature. I run because I love it. I got caught up in the objective, the numbers, and the training log. My goal was to run far, not run with joy. And that is where I failed.
The reality is, I am not a “runner.” While I enjoy running and spend hundreds of hours every year on the trail, it is not what defines me as a being. I am not a skier, a personal trainer, an epileptic, or a vegan. These are all just labels and can ultimately be the root of suffering if you choose to identify with them. As a skier, I would face suffering anytime I was not on the snow, forever chasing the illusion of the perfect line. As a vegan, I would be perpetually challenged and viciously upset every time an animal was killed or exploited. As an epileptic, I would never go backcountry skiing, mountaineering, or dare to be caught swimming in a remote alpine lake. While I love skiing, running, eating vegan food, and have been diagnosed with epilepsy by old men in white coats, I refuse to accept these labels as my identity. They are a part of who I am, but not who I am.
Through intentional reflection and meditation, we can all unveil who we truly are — the essence of our being. It is only through stillness that we can identify why we are addicted to movement. Before you register for your next race or head out on your training run, ask yourself “why?” Is it the deepest part of what your Soul needs? Or would you benefit more from stretching, cooking a healthy meal, or spending quality time with a loved one? I’m not saying you shouldn’t sign up for a race; on the contrary, I am encouraging you to get to the essence of why you are signing up in the first place. Are you doing it to be the best version of yourself? Are you truly seeking the physical challenge that will certainly segue into mental, emotional, and spiritual growth? Or are you doing it for acknowledgement and accolades? Do you want to be the best? To wear the gold medal around your neck? Or do you truly love the sport, the process, the journey? Do you have a smile on your face from start to finish? If it doesn’t bring you joy, if it doesn’t bring you closer to your true essence, why on earth would you do it?
Final Takeaways
Reflecting on my training for the SOB 100k and the subsequent injury, I realize that this experience has been profoundly transformative. Initially, I viewed my injury as a failure, but through intentional reflection, I have come to see it as a crucial part of my journey. It has taught me invaluable lessons about resilience, self-awareness, and the importance of balance. I now understand that my worth is not defined by my ability to complete a race or achieve a personal best. Instead, it lies in my capacity to grow, adapt, and find joy in the process. As you navigate your own challenges, I encourage you to delve into the deeper “why” behind your pursuits, embrace the moments of stillness, and lean on your support systems.
Remember, every setback is an opportunity for growth, and every journey is a chance to discover more about yourself. By focusing on the process and not just the outcome, you can find fulfillment and meaning in every step of your adventure. In closing, this experience has illuminated the profound connection between ego and endurance. While the ego often pushes us to seek external validation, true fulfillment comes from within. By listening to our bodies, reflecting on our motivations, and embracing the support around us, we can transcend the limitations of ego and discover a deeper, more authentic connection to our passions. Let this journey inspire you to pursue your goals with intention, balance, and a sense of inner peace.
