Waiting for the storm to pass – an abstract report on Yurrebilla 56km 2019

(Photo courtesy of Glen Brooks)

Progress is never linear.

I was diagnosed with bipolar ten years ago. I have never reexperienced the sorrow and darkness I felt at that time. But life goes on and so do the disappointments. I am a positive and resilient person, but disappointment is cumulative. My view is that if the energy isn’t expelled outward in unmanaged outbursts of anger, it’s internalised as self hatred and sadness. I prefer self loathing over violence.

When I started running, it was the medicine. Everything was better. Whatever the problem may be, running was always the solution, until it stopped working.

Last year, I attempted to run Tor Des Geants – a 330km run nonstop through the Italian Alps. I was broken at the start line – and yet I thought I could do it. My body was strong but my heart was broken.

What remnants of me were in tact at the start line were completely shattered by the time I DNF’d at 220km.

I returned “home” and continued my stream of disappointments and loss. I lost all sense of normality, comfort and routine and suddenly, running wasn’t helping. Physically I was damaged, but worse yet, mentally I was too wounded to push forward. My legs had no momentum, and so I stood still. Paralysed by my own misfortunes and locked in my own labyrinth of mental illness and self pity.

But eventually my body healed, so I started with the small runs. I kept some kind of routine with the hopes that the passion might be restored.

I ran the odd 50km race – not because I wanted to, but because I wanted to make sure I was dealing with the pain of life and nothing like a good ultra to help you probe at the pain spots – dig around and see just how much it hurts, how much can you hurt?

And then it was Sunday, the morning of Yurrebilla 56km. 12 months post Tor Des Geants.

The rain beat down on the roof as I lay in bed and I thought I didn’t want to go out there.

I got to the start line – still unenthused until I saw Glen and Kate. I met those two under adverse conditions. Lost during a 100 mile race in the Flinders Ranges one year – we supported one another. Years later, friendships born through mutual suffering remain intact – and continue to grow and expand (so many other friendly faces introduced through Kate and Glen).

The race began and I started moving forward. My body felt good, it was ready to take me the distance.

I ran along the course, reminded of moments in time when I had been clouded in darkness and had sought respite and healing from the earth.

The rain came down hard then it hailed. The dirt turned to mud beneath my feet.

So may times I thought I was tired, but I just kept breathing, just kept putting one foot in front of the other and I’d come good. I could feel myself slipping into a downer and then suddenly I’d feel like my legs were brand new.

In the last 5km I thought my legs were gone. My quads were too sore to run the downhill. I told myself this was okay – I just hadn’t trained enough, but my brain wanted to challenge my quads on this conclusion. So I started pushing harder and the pain backed off.

With 2km to go, I considered walking. Instead I text my Dad that I’d be at the finish in 12 minutes and therefore had no choice but to run.

When I crossed the finish line my mum said “you look like you could turn back and do it all again in reverse.” I knew I probably could have.

Any obstacle I encountered I could overcome it. Every negative thought, I challenged its truth.

This wasn’t my fastest Yurrebilla – hell I’d barely trained for it, but at no point did I think this was too much. At no point did I embrace quitting. I was ready to take on any challenge big or small. I would find joy in all that the day had to offer – whether that was soggy aid station food that had been sitting in the rain, unnecessary hills, hail, sore legs, asthma – I was ready to love it all.

I embraced the suffering and found opportunity for growth. I ran with love in my heart, for myself and for those in my life that bring me so much joy.

Just when I thought maybe I was done with ultra running, I am reminded of my “why.”

Fast finish times are nice but they are totally irrelevant in the bigger scheme. Learning what you are made of when times get tough, recognising your own ability to fight, to push through, to just breathe and put one foot in front of the other and wait for the storm to pass, to be kind to others when you feel like shit, to put their suffering before your own, to challenge your truth, to love and be loved and do everything you do with love in your heart – well I think that’s a bloody good reason to run another ultra.