It's hard to formulate the words to write a race report. I tried to write a blog post, but feel like what is "expected" of me is different than what I have to say. So, here's the rough draft of the blog post. I don't know what I'll end up posting.
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To write about an experience is a pathetic attempt to use symbols to give form, shape-- something concrete even, to the intangible. Why then, try?
I knew with the crew I had, there'd be push on the social media side of the weekend. My pacers and crew consisted of social media managers, camera/tech geeks, gear junkies, ultra-running enthusiasts... It was really no surprise when the FB crew message thread turned to how to tell the story, what to highlight, etc. But I couldn't bring myself to comment on it. I could only think, what if I don't want to tell the story? "Qui plus sait, plus se tait?" What if I don't want to verbalize the 79,000 seconds that passed? What if I want to keep them forever dislodged in some private corner of myself?
Perhaps I should start with the hardest part of the 100 mile run. It wasn't finishing; it wasn't tuning out the blisters or nagging injuries. It wasn't running for hours dehydrated, vomit all over me, wishing for pain killers or salt. It was the night before it all began, sitting in a tent with 3 people I trust my life with. Where they shone lights and lamps and headlights on me, gave me a microphone, and forced me to talk. When all I wanted to do so badly was to curl up in my sleeping bag and pretend that I didn't exist.
It is ironic that the same inward anxiety that caused me to suddenly lose weight before the white rim and render me unable to intake calories is the same anxiety that fueled me when I was without any calories.
Is it selfish then, to want to keep my privacy? I understand why so many race reports focus on the hard facts. The numbers, the calories, the logistics. Those are easy. They create the spine of the story line. They give a lifeless shape to a story, that however difficult, is innately understood it must be told.
I want to share the intimate joy of the weekend. The abounding happiness, the times where I thought that no one save the soft, sweet red dirt I was bounding down could understand my irrational contentment and joy. I want to share the anxiety, the pain, and the stress from several areas of my life that caused my to lose 5% of my body weight in the weeks preceding the run and inadvertently caused me to be unable to digest food for the latter half of the run.
And at the same moment, I want to keep that all to myself. It's a part of me. The bright lights scare me.
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