"Can you Walk?"

“Can you walk?”

I crossed the timing mat for the third of five 10K loops, just over 18 miles, of a 50K (31 mile) foot race.

For almost 18 miles, I was having a terrific race. I was certain to finish the third loop in under three hours and likely in the top three. Until everything broke. My right hip flexor suddenly locked up. The pain was searing and pulsing through my body with every step, and I could barely limp. I knew my race was over. I started noticing the fatigue taking over my body, and all I could do was barely limp to the timing mat to take a DNF (Did Not Finish). This was going to be my first DNF in almost 20 years, then came this tall, skinny volunteer.

“How’s it going?” I was finished, done. I put together some garbled explanation of my hip, limping, fatigue, searing pain, and how there was no way I was going to finish this race. He asked me how far I had gone.

“I don’t know, 20 miles?”

“Can you walk?”

“I can barely limp, I’m done.” There’s no way I’m going to finish this race!

“Can you walk?”

I struggled, “I don’t know, my hip is locked up and every step is painful, I need to quit.”

“Can you walk the last 12 miles? You’ve got four hours to go 12 miles.”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Nope!

“Can you at least make it to the next aid station in three miles?” He came down to my level. He knew where I was and came down to my level to make the connection I needed to keep me going.

“You don’t want to drop out after you’ve come this far. You’ve got four hours, no one said you had to be fast. Just make one more loop and you can re-evaluate then.”

When running a long-distance race, the more I walk, the more time I’ve got on the course to think about the pain and fatigue. The solitude of an ultra-marathon is one of its benefits, but it will break you if you’re not ready for it, especially when you’re suffering by yourself. Often, you’re alone, in the dark, in the cold, with nothing but your mind to keep you occupied. I looked down the long path and started walking.

The last 20K of the race was torture, and adding to my suffering, my feet had developed blisters, and one of them had already burst and filled my shoe with fluid. By the time I made it to the first aid station of my fourth loop, I was still trying to figure out my run/walk rhythm and how to manage the fatigue and the pain. Eventually, I found my rhythm. Run until my hip hurt, power-walk through the pain, curse; run- hurt- walk- curse- repeat.

In every race, there’s a beginning, a middle, and always an end. The beginning is easy because that’s where all the dreams are still possibilities, the plan is starting to be executed and none of the problems show up. All the anxiety that brought me to the beginning of a race is finally put on pause, because here we are, finally, all the accumulated effort, the training, the “what-ifs”, the everything is finally exposed. These are the conditions of the beginning, and everything is as is it. Then you get to the middle.

If you really want to know a person, watch the middle. The middle is where the race is really fought, in the mind, spirit, and body. The middle will break you. The middle is the muck you’ve got to work through to keep going. If you can learn how to manage the middle, you can make it through anything. The middle is where the plan blows up and you need to reconfigure and improvise. The middle is often the part where the story is really told. It’s cramping, limping, crying, puking, boredom, cursing, energy-sucking. The middle is long.

The end is the glory. The end is the second, third, fourth, ninth wind. The re-examined and redetermined mind. The new plan, the “kick it up and find another gear” part of the race. Adrenaline starts to pump, and you have new life, new purpose and rediscovered your reason for even starting.

The sun set, and the city lights were gorgeous. I kept to my rhythm, my adapted plan, run-pain-curse-walk repeat. The blisters on my feet were screaming louder with every step, which only compounded the overall achiness of my feet, my legs were talking to me about my choices, my hips burned-locked up- burned, the solitude was getting to me, and the fatigue of the evening with its now cool breeze was becoming a factor. Don’t stop, keep going. Forward, no matter how slow, is still forward, and I was going to finish this race. I crossed the finish at just over six hours.

We’re all entitled to a disappointing race, grade, project, experience, and even a rough year. In the end, getting to the finish line builds resilience no matter how long it takes or how ugly the journey. I often repeat to myself, “There is no finish line.” The glorious feeling of the finish line is short-lived. I headed home, hungry and tired, but with the feeling of relief and joy after having completed something I almost quit.

There are times when you need to take a break, step off the course and re-evaluate. We all need someone who will walk with us, aware of the situation. Someone who will look beyond our self-inflicted limits, our perceived pain, our “wall” and help us make the right choice for ourselves. We all need someone who will simply ask, “Can you walk?” We need someone who will listen to our answer with wisdom, cut through our bullshit, and help us find our own right way.