A Beautiful Pain - Learnings from the Tahoe 200

“We suffer more in imagination than in reality.” – Seneca

Hiking into the Loon Lake Aid Station at mile 182 in the midday sun, I was feeling really disoriented due to dehydration and sleep deprivation, and my feet were destroyed. We had been cranking out miles since we last saw our crew at 8:00 PM the night before. And although we had stopped a couple of times since mile 142, my focus at those aid stations was solely on fuel and hydration. I didn’t bother to spend any time tending to my feet or trying to grab some rest. So there I stood, 182 miles into the race, feeling like a I got hit by a train...and it was absolutely beautiful. Most of the people reading this will be saying, “You have lost your #@$%ing mind.” Maybe, but let me try to explain.

As I child, teenager, and young adult I was constantly involved in a variety of different sports, and lacrosse was my main passion. Some of my fondest memories from those days involved competing hard on the field and then licking my battle wounds in the locker room after the game. As I sat there, bloodied and banged up, I would relish in that pain and the feeling of being so alive. I was Roosevelt's ‘Man in the Arena’ and I loved every bit of it. Fast forward to my late 20’s. I was no longer in the Army and I certainly wasn’t pushing myself or competing. At that point in my life the only pain I felt was from sitting on my ass all day at work. I was not even in the parking lot of the arena anymore. Sure, I was living a good life. I had a great family, a good job, a nice house...but I often felt numb to the world. This feeling would persist on and off for at least a decade until I got involved in trail running and ultrarunning. My first 50-miler was a game changer. In an instant I was back in the pain cave, but flying high at the same time.

Back to Tahoe. In a 200-mile race it’s only a matter of time until the body starts to decay. And with decay comes pain. But pain can be an amazing instructor if you embrace it’s teachings. This is always easier said than done, because your ability to deal with the pain often comes down to your attitude. The individuals that can maintain a positive attitude and find some humor in the less than optimal situations that arise have a much better chance thriving in the arena.

“You know what they say, man. It's not the altitude, it's the attitude.” - Scott Fischer

So, let’s unpack my ride on the pain train and what I learned from these experiences. Here is a brief list of the more memorable situations I encountered throughout the race.

• Eyes. My first true challenge was the dust (something I really hadn’t considered going into the race). The combination of dust and dry air wreaked havoc on my eyes and contacts. After the first 20 miles, my eyes were watering, swollen, and it became really challenging to see with my contacts. My eyes deteriorated so much that by Day #3 my wife picked up a pair of ski goggles for me just to help keep the dust out.

• Nose. Another bonus of the dust was the multiple nosebleeds that took place throughout the race. The actual nosebleeds weren’t much of an issue, but the creation of some form of ‘nose coal’ from dried blood and dust constantly plugged my nasal passages and definitely impacted my normal breathing patterns. As of this morning, I’m still blowing dried up blood out of my nose. I’m sure you were interested in knowing this information. You’re welcome.
• Groin. I’m including this as a PSA. This was a close call that could have been really bad. My boy, Jarrod, just missed jabbing me in a region that probably would have ended my race. I will leave it at that. Note: try to keep enough distance between you and other runners when using poles unless you want to get stabbed.
• Feet. I made it through the first 100 miles with almost no issues with my feet, aside from the normal aching and swelling that come with that distance. The only real issue I encountered during the first half of the race was self-inflicted. I actually stabbed myself in my own foot with my trekking pole. My toe never had a chance and that toenail will be heading to the graveyard soon. After 100 miles, my feet really started to fall apart. The combination of sand getting into my shoes along with the technical terrain just completely shredded my feet. I ended up with blisters on my toes, beneath my toes, wrapped around my heels...and under my toenail. It’s been four days since the race and I’m still draining blisters.

• Mental Fatigue. This is directly associated with sleep deprivation, and while not painful per se, it clearly played games with my ability to focus and make good decisions. Over the course of 205 miles I slept for a total of 2 hours. By the third day I was starting to experience more and more hallucinations and I felt like I was detached from my body. Everywhere I looked I saw faces on rocks, trees and in the dirt. I felt like I was in a dream watching myself run, but I was actually awake and moving. I really enjoyed this on some level because I’ve never experienced this trance-like state before. On the other hand, however, the sleep deprivation and fatigue did create a certain level of anxiety because there were times when I didn’t even realize where I was and I knew I was possibly making poor decisions that could impact my race.
• Mouth. And just because running 205 miles is not hard enough, I decided to inflict some additional pain upon myself once I finished the race. Carrie snagged me a beer and some pizza at the finish line, but I didn’t realize the pizza had literally just come out of the oven. So, in my zombie-like state I just started shoveling the pizza in and completely burned my mouth...which has hurt since we left Tahoe. Awesome!

I could drone on and on about various types of discomfort and suffering, but that’s not my intent. I want to highlight why pain is a beautiful feeling to embrace. The Tahoe 200 allows you to become a student of pain...and here are three lessons I learned while I was in the so-called classroom.

1. You can find meaning in pain.

I shared a video by Viktor Frankl prior to the race and I meditated on his commentary a fair amount while I was on the trail. Here is one of his quotes that has always stuck with me, “If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering.” The meaning for me was multi-faceted. I was running this race to test my limits...but also to deal with personal issues and battles that I have been fighting for almost two decades. The pain created from this race was an antidote, a therapy, for other pains in my life. The pain was also a constant reminder for me in terms of the lessons I’m trying to teach my own sons and my lacrosse players. Pain is just a feeling. You can make a conscious choice how you react to that feeling. It was really important for me to demonstrate to the best of my ability how an individual can embrace pain and deal with adversity while trying to maintain a positive mindset. This is an amazing life lesson, but it takes practice. It requires you to spend time in the pain cave versus trying to avoid pain. If you want to get better at facing adversity, you must experience adversity.

2. Pain is not permanent.

To know that the suffering is impermanent is such a powerful motivator. There is a quote that floats around the ultrarunning world attributed to Ann Trason, "It hurts up to a point and then it doesn't get any worse." I experienced this time and time again over the course of the race. I would get to a place where the pain in my feet was excruciating, and I would keep kicking rocks and roots thinking to myself, “God, why have you forsaken me?” I know, that’s really melodramatic, but at the time I was doing everything in my power to not curse the world...while trying to keep my head screwed on straight. When this was happening I would try to calm my breathing and remind myself of lesson #1 above, and without fail, the pain would neutralize and sometimes even go away. The most euphoric feeling I’ve ever felt in a race came during the last 13 miles of the Tahoe 200. This section involved over 9 miles and 2,500 feet of climbing and then a 4 mile descent to the finish. Up to this point in the race I was in some sort of constant pain and fatigue...and then it vanished. To this day, I will never understand what happened during that last section, but every step and every breath became effortless. I was moving faster and more efficiently than at any other point in time during the race...and without an ounce of pain.

3. Pain creates vulnerability.

I’m not a super vulnerable dude. There, I said it. However, when a healthy dose of pain was added into the mix (i.e., pretty much from the climb up to Heavenly at mile 100 to Loon Lake at mile 182), I started to acknowledge and accept the fact that I was becoming weaker and helpless. I embraced the fact that my fellow runners, aid station volunteers, and my crew were just as important, if not more, than my own drive and will to succeed. I realized that if I wanted to complete this race, I needed to allow people around me to help me, both directly and indirectly. I started this blog post with a description of what was going down at mile 182 at the Loon Lake Aid Station. What happened there is a testament to being vulnerable and being willing to accept help from the amazing individuals that were there that day. From the aid station volunteer that helped me when I showed up (like I was a lost puppy), to Nick that was pacing us for 40 miles, to Carrie and Eric taking care of my kit and feet, and to Heather, Ethan, Tammy and her parents all providing care and moral support. That help was critical to the success we all achieved 24 miles later.

I’m truly thankful I had the opportunity to participate in this amazing experience. The journey leading up to the race, and the race itself, have taught me many things about who I am. I still have a lot of work to do, but for four days in the mountains around Lake Tahoe this experience helped shine a light on the type of person I want to be.

I can’t thank my family enough for letting me pursue this passion and supporting me in the trenches during the race. Having them with me means more than they will ever know. Huge thanks to Jarrod Neeley for being my partner in crime for 3 and half days in the mountains. There is nothing better than shared suffering. Big shout out to Jeff Brown and Nick Watson for their pacing support from miles 117 to 182. And big hugs and fist bumps to Heather Wahlquist Neeley and Ethan for helping crew/support Jarrod and I on and off for 4 days.

Finally, I was blown away by the generosity we received from many individuals for the Bend Lacrosse fundraiser. Unbeknownst to me at first, Carrie was essentially executing a telethon while we were running through the mountains. Through the amazing support of friends, family members, classmates, and former teammates, we doubled the amount raised during the course of the race. We are now over $8k and I’m truly humbled by the support we received for the race and for my Bend Lacrosse program. I will be keeping the fundraiser open for another week if you still want to donate. Thanks so much!