Hello Ultra, My Old Friend…

Last Updated on January 6, 2024 by Heather Hart, ACSM EP, CSCS

I never imagined I’d have such a hilariously complex (and at times unnecessarily dramatic) relationship with sport – but here we are.

My life as an athlete technically and unceremoniously started when I was 9 years old. Our family had recently packed up and moved from the only home I had ever known in Connecticut, to a small town in the state of New Hampshire. The move was – at least in my 9 year old observation – somewhat abrupt, and left me feeling very much like my entire life had been unfairly uprooted.

It was in New Hampshire that I joined my very first sports team: a co-ed, coach-pitch baseball league. I can’t remember if it was something I told my parents I wanted to do, or if this was something they signed me up for, hoping it would help me adjust to our new home. I do remember feeling woefully out of place on the field and among my teammates. I had always been an active kid, but I wouldn’t have classified myself as athletic. In the past I had been enrolled in various dance classes, but I had never played traditional “sports”.

At our very first game I managed to not-so-gracefully catch a fly ball in the outfield…with my face.

Growing up, my parents had a steadfast “follow through with your commitments” rule: once we started something, we were expected to finish it. When I was 8, I begged my parents to let me take violin lessons at school. They agreed, and we instantly discovered that a) my version of “playing the violin” sounded akin to a pack of feral cats being tortured, and b) we all quickly grew to hate that I played the violin.

Nevertheless, I stuck with it for the remainder of the school year until I was finally able to return the rental violin and all of our ears were able to being the healing process.

But despite the “no quitting” ethos, to this day I cannot recall attending another baseball practice or game after the face incident, leaving me to suspect my parents took pity on my lack of athletic prowess and let me quit the team.

That summer we moved again, this time across the Connecticut river to the state of Vermont. Moving twice in a single year was hard for my now 10 year old social life, and I was desperate to fit in with my classmates at my new school. So when another student – Ben – asked me on the first day of school what sports I played, I quickly responded “all of them” with such confidence that I almost had myself convinced of the lie.

But the true pivotal moment in my life would come not with the lie itself, but rather when I followed through on those words, and almost immediately began playing sports.

All of them.

I asked my parents to sign me up for the co-ed soccer team that fall at my new school, and from that moment on I was always on some sort of team. The second one season was over, I rolled right into the next one, playing soccer, basketball, and softball all the way through middle school.

Once I hit high school, I shifted my focus to soccer, convinced I was going to be the next Mia Hamm (it was the mid 90’s, after all). Women’s league in the summer, high school varsity in the fall, Olympic Development program in the winter, and rec league in the spring. A friend convinced me to supplement the spring soccer season with joining the track and field team at school, which I did somewhat reluctantly (running was always viewed as a “punishment” in my other sports) for the next 4 years.

There was a brief stint with surfing in my early 20’s before I became obsessed with and woefully lost to the sport of running, which nearly brings us up to date.

There’s no doubt that I loved to run – I don’t think anyone could put themselves through the pain and discomfort of a marathon, never mind multiple 100 mile ultramarathons, if they didn’t love to sport.

But for me, there was always more to it than that.

My running accomplishments were more often than not shadowed by an inexplicable desire to prove myself. To who? I still don’t really know the answer to that. Just like the 10 year old version of me who felt like my peers might like me more if I played “all of the sports”, I’m sure there was a subconscious belief that I could prove myself and my worth to the world by accomplishing things most people wouldn’t even begin to attempt.

As a result, I spent more time in a deep, dark, mental place “gutting out” mileage during races than I spent actually enjoying myself. But hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

And as so many of you know already, for a long time, too long in fact, running was an escape for me. At times that escape was therapeutic, but more often than not it was a form of self-destruction and avoidance.

I’ve written about this in depth before, and I won’t rehash all of the details in this post (but you can read them here). The important thing to know is that I eventually got professional help, which allowed me recognize so many of the things I was avoiding, and begin to heal from the things I felt the need to escape from.

In the same way someone who uses alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism needs to learn to not reach for a drink every time they experience a stressful situation, I had to learn how to not reach for running every time I wanted to escape my own reality.

So in classic “all-or-nothing” Heather style, I found the best way through this phase of life wasn’t to learn moderation, but was to simply distance myself entirely from something that I had now begun to associate with unhealthy behaviors, with heartache, and with a version of myself I no longer wanted to be.

But I had to do so without inadvertently replacing that “crutch” with something else.

And I’m proud as hell to be able to say that I managed to pull it off.

The last two years I’ve truly leaned in to learning how to move my body in a number of ways, for physical fitness, emotional health, and to satisfy that competitive side of me that often gets me un-invited from game nights. But I also managed to do so in a healthy, non-obsessive way…which means I’ve learned to rest, even when I don’t want to.

In the past two years I have gone from a self-proclaimed “reluctant cyclist” who ended most rides in tears, to someone who now owns three bikes and a closet full of cycling bibs, follows GCN on the instagram, and finally understands why my husband wants his ashes spread on the Alpe d’Huez. Riding my bike brings an adrenaline rush that reminds me of being a little kid again. I’m not very fast and certainly not the most skilled, but damn I have a ton of fun on two wheels.

I fell in love with the sport of Adventure Racing, in a way I had never experienced in any other sport before. While my ultramarathon days were rife with an internal sense of competition and feeling like I had something to prove, adventure racing has been nothing but pure bliss. Sure, it’s fun to occasionally podium and push myself in the name of competition, but I also get so much from simply BEING out there, win or lose. I can spend hours – days, even – in the middle of the woods, soaking wet, filthy, and usually not entirely sure of where we actually are, and all I feel is joy. I love it.

I’ve embraced strength training in an entirely new way. It’s no longer something I do to ensure I don’t get injured while running. Instead, it’s become an entity of it’s own in my life, one that I not only view as a necessity for health, but as a pastime that can stand alone, and I still enjoy it.

And yes, I am still running. Just not very much and not very far, and you’d probably never know it because I don’t post a running selfie on social media for every workout I log.

As a result, aside from some random (and frustrating) perimenopause symptoms, my body as an athlete is happier and healthier than it’s ever been. Physically, I feel strong. Mentally, I feel at ease.

But while everything is truly going swell in my life as a self-proclaimed “retired ultra runner”, there’s been this whisper in the back of my mind, that’s slowly yet persistently become louder over the last 6 months. A voice that’s growing harder to ignore, pleading “This sport has given you so much…don’t let your relationship with ultrarunning end on a bad note”.

So, in a move I want to say was unexpected, but my husband could tell you he probably saw coming…

I registered for the Yeti 100.

This has been a bucket-list race for me since it’s inception ten years ago. And if EVER there was a race or a group of runners that could help elicit joy and replace the bad ultra memories with good ones, I’m fairly certain it’s the Yetis.

While I’m currently riding the high of hitting the register button for an event that is still 9 months away, I’ll be honest that I don’t entirely know what to expect.

Part of me wonders if I’m looking back at ultrarunning in the way you reminisce only about the good times of a past toxic relationship, or how you recall the experience of pregnancy and childbirth to have been “not that bad” (tell that to my pelvic floor).

A large part of me recognizes that I may get to the finish line (or hell, halfway to the finish line) and realize that no, I really DON’T actually want to run ridiculously long distances for fun anymore, and can someone please bring me my bicycle.

But what I truly hope is that over the next 9 months I’m able to reconcile my relationship with ultrarunning. Because deep down I recognize that ANYTHING can become a negative in your life if you let it. Ultrarunning wasn’t the problem…

I was the problem.

These days, I’m less of a problem (but not entirely un-problematic…it’s a part of my charm). And while I never want my entire world to absolutely revolve around running again, I’d love for us to be good friends again.

In classic “Blogger circa 2010” fashion, I fully intend to document my training on this site. My approach this time around will be significantly different – a more hybrid training style – and the exercise science nerd in me is really excited (utterly geeked, if we’re being honest) for this self experiment. My hope is that this approach will not only get me to the start – and finish line – feeling strong, healthy, and happy, but will open up possibilities for a new training approach for the second half of my ultrarunning career.

So, stay tuned…