88 Days to Ultraman Mexico: Lake Placid Reflections

I think I am losing my way with the writing, though I don’t feel upset about it. I notice that when I sit down to write, my first thought goes to how this serves the Ultraman blog journey. Having an expectation in mind is a limitation. That limitation can be constructive, but it has to be managed.

The issue is that I’m looking for something “good,” instead of being open to what I have. I start writing thinking it must be relevant and valuable. I don’t want to write as if I’m performing for others. I want to write for myself. Writing is part of my life I know I can look back on with satisfaction and pride.

I want to write the way I raced this weekend. I want to do everything the way I raced this weekend.

I had a goal in mind and approached it with pace, composure, and determination. It seemed achievable at first, but then it got tough. For a while, it was hard, but I had no option but to keep moving forward. I didn’t fear failure. I only worried about disappointing myself by letting my effort level drop. Pressing forward without overcompensating. I raced with energy when it came and pushed through the lows when it faded.

On the run, I began without overthinking. The first two miles were pure sensation. No distracting thoughts or judgements. This was the moment I had trained for. The 5-hour marathon goal was at the edge of my ability, so I set a sub goal: hold the pace as long as possible. I dropped below pace at the 12 mile marker. My response as immediate. I renewed my effort, adjusted cadence, stride, and increased nutrition at aid stations to get my pace back.

In the final stretch, the goal was within reach, but it wasn’t guaranteed. Excuses filled my mind. What’s the difference between sub 5 hours and being a minute or two over. Why risk cramping or pulling something for a few seconds in a race that takes all day? Even if I push I don’t know if I will make it in time. I may have already missed my time goal, the watch isn’t official. I could have walked the last mile, but I decided to push, shaving off seconds whenever possible, letting the crowd’s energy fuel me. I skipped the last aid station, ran through every ounce I had, and crossed the line at four hours, 59 minutes, and 53 seconds.

Seconds mattered.

Every small decision to push instead of pause added up.

This was the best I have ever raced. This is how I want to live my life: focused, persistent, adaptive, present.