Blast From the Past: Ultra Experience From My Pre-Ultra Days

The gravel road passed quietly and relatively easily underfoot; the silent stillness all around struck me as a stark contrast to the rest of life, but experience had shown that the trail gets that way, especially when the run intrudes upon North Farm's typical 1am slumber.

Miles had come and gone, and there were yet miles to come and go, but the distance already covered was promptly forgotten, and the distance to come had not yet been brought to the fore.  The entire effort was encompassed completely in the now, although this did not erase the steadily growing fatigue in both the legs and the mind.

The steady cadence of leg turnover seemed the only consistent aspect of reality; even the moon and stars changing more noticeably than the organic, yet mechanically cyclical sound of foot hitting rock over and over and over and over.

Little did I know at the time that such a serene experience could be found, almost paradoxically, in the competitive fire of a race spanning days just as well as the simple late-night 12 or 15-miler in which I found myself.