May 3, 2014

While stuffing myself with grain-free pancakes and guzzling coffee between Run #1 and Emergency Call #2, I read a recent Trail Runner article (trailrunnermag.com) about the past and present of ultrarunning in Seattle. Living less than an hour from the US-Mexico border, surrounded by cacti and spring dust storms that block out views of the mountain ranges that frame each side of town, northern Washington State is about as far away as you can get while still remaining in the same time zone and country. Much as I look forward to some day running and living in a place that offers both mountains and rain (and maybe fewer rattlesnakes), what struck me most about the article was the universal subject of community.  

Whether racing or training, I rarely run within talking distance of other people. Sometimes this is intentional, such as during a night race when the person behind me doesn’t realize that his flashlight “necklace” is transforming an unimposing piece of single track into a motion-sickness inducing Fun House. More often it’s logistical, a consequence of a faster than the “slow group” but slower than the “fast guys” pace or simply a tight work schedule. I think there is a sizeable group of seasoned ultra-runners who come to events simply to share a little “community” time with similar people in the hypoglycemic/hyponatremic recovery phase after crossing the finish line. No social media network can replace that unique sense of camaraderie with people who you are only connected to by the path your feet have covered.  Who needs party drugs when electrolyte imbalances can result in hallucinated elephants appearing in the middle of the Grand Canyon?

Seriously though, endurance sports can be isolating. Part of the very definition of “extreme” is going beyond what the vast majority of the bell curve is willing to do. We are an intentionally small group, not by exclusion, but by personal expectation. To my knowledge (and I’ve searched extensively), there are no other women in my large, mountain-framed, marathon-junkie, Southern Arizona town currently competing in race distances greater than 50 miles. And yet, as humans, we crave community within our self-imposed isolation… So we are left with two choices, to build community where we are, or follow it. It’s no wonder we flock to places like the Seattle of old, or now Bend and Boulder, where the “elites” become real people and there’s always someone to push you harder. It’s a dream that the well-sponsored or flexibly employed can live daily, while the rest of us fly in for destination races framed as “vacations.” Outside of those hotspots, how do we cultivate that sense of inspiration and community without dimming our own personal expectations? How do you keep pushing harder when there’s no one around to push back? What does it take to cultivate an ultra-running community that is both inviting to the “average” runner and challenging to the “elite”? Or, as evidenced by the evolution of Seattle’s trail community, does one draw have to wane for the other to wax high?