On Belonging and Goals aka Lessons from the Western States Endurance Run
A couple of weeks ago, one of my kids said something that kind of broke my heart. He’s in middle school and plays baseball. Recently, he’s been frustrated with his lack of progress despite all his practice.
He wasn’t getting any better.
He can no longer throw a ball correctly or accurately.
He’s going to lose his spot on his team’s roster when fall ball rolls around and won’t be able to play.
I tried to relate his experience to my experience with running. That’s when he said the thing that made me go ouch: “Mommy, your running isn’t the same thing as my baseball. You don’t run seriously or competitively.”
Or something along those lines.
And it’s true. I don’t run competitively. I’m not training for anything and haven’t trained for anything in a long time. My only running-related goal right is to be able to go out and run 5-8 miles consistently without feeling like a wreck and without setting off the cycle of injury that seems to plague me. Frankly, I just want to run.
I tried to explain to him why that’s important to me. Not just for “health” and “fitness” reasons but because it helps me feel grounded in my body. It shuts off my overthinking mind. It makes me feel free. It. Ultimately, it’s when I feel the most like me.
But if I’m being honest, his comment cut to the core of one of my biggest insecurities—that I’m not a real runner. And that feeling was in full effect as I traveled out to Tahoe at the end of June for Western States Endurance Run, aka the Super Bowl of ultrarunning.
(Side note: For those of you not familiar with the world of ultrarunning, Western States is the oldest 100-mile trail race. Runners start at the base of Palisades Tahoe in Olympic Valley, CA. They climb more than 18,000 feet and descend roughly 23,000 feet on their way to the finish line in Auburn, CA. While it’s a chilly 40ish degrees at the start at 5am, the temps soar into the 90s in the canyons pretty quickly.)
After 3 years of the pandemic, I needed to refill my cup so when the opportunity came up to go to Western States, I said yes. I wanted to be around people who loved running as much as I do. I wanted to witness this race first-hand because the idea of running 100 miles is something I can’t fathom doing myself. What does it take? How do people handle the dark moments during the race? How do they keep going?
But ironically, the reasons why I wanted to fly out to Western States were the exact reasons I was anxious and nervous about being there. What makes me qualified to attend an event like this, to write about running, to talk to runners, and to interview elite and pro runners? I’m not fast and never will be fast. I don’t run long distances. I’m not competitive. I don’t run with a group or a crew (and in fact, much prefer solo runs). Sure, I cover a cover X miles per week and am a fan of the sport, but is that enough? Do I actually belong and if so, where?
The entire weekend felt like a battle. On the one hand, as an introvert, I naturally wanted to shrink back. While interviews are one of my favorite parts of being a journalist, I hate hate hate making small talk and trying to insert myself in conversations with people who obviously know each other or have some connection to one another.
Social anxiety on its own is hard, but layer on top of that my insecurity about my running background, being an outsider to the trail running community, and being one of a few people of color and I was ready to disappear into the corner. There’s this constant need to fit in, to be funny or relatable—all of which requires a lot of filtering and monitoring of what I say or do or how I present myself—yet I always feeling like I miss the mark.
On the other hand, I had to remind myself constantly that just showing up and being present in these spaces matter. It’s a chance to show the community—and myself—that I do belong, regardless of my running resume. I’m not sure I would have done that or even realized that had I not read the profile of #DiverseWeRun founder Carolyn Su in Trail Runner Magazine on my flight to Reno. (It’s great. You can read it here.) Carolyn’s story as a Chinese-American woman could be my story (minus the audacity to run a multi-stage trail race like the Trans-Rockies). The questions she grappled with felt so familiar.
The experience also reminded me a lot of the feelings I felt as I wrote my book (<— past tense means book is done!! Will send an update on the book soon!). I wasn’t just reporting on a story. In this case, I was supposed to be the expert.
Every time my editor reminded me of this, it felt like I was playing dress-up in my mom’s closet—shoes too big, dress too big, make-up all over my face. Nothing fit right and I was really uncomfortable. I just wanted to shrug off all those layers and get back into my pajamas. I kept wondering, Who am I to write this book?
As a journalist, it’s a weird line to walk sometimes, especially as someone who writes a lot about sports because it often feels like every sports journalist is not only a good write but also a really good athlete. But I showed up every day and wrote. Eventually, a shitty first draft turned into a revised draft and finally a completed manuscript. I found my voice and I also realized that I had something important to say.
When I posted about feeling insecure, people messaged me saying they often feel the same. It surprised me because some of these people are pretty accomplished athletes and runners. But it reminded me that we’re all just humans looking for connection and validation. For belonging. For community.
Maybe that’s why finish lines are so powerful and why they always make me cry. Because we’re all just striving to put one foot in front of the other and reach our goal. For the pros, that’s finishing Western States in the top 10 in a blazing fast time. For others, it’s making it around the track at Placer High School and crossing the finish line under the 30-hour cut off. Each one of those goals is valid.
So being at Western States as a writer and a run-for-fun runner? Totally valid.
Christine
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www.christinemyu.com
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