The dawning reality of a six-day race
When I tell people I’m doing a six-day race around a campsite in France, they look at me blankly. That's understandable, I guess
I’m nervous. When I tell people I’m doing a six-day race around a campsite in France this coming week, and that I’ll be trying to run over 400 miles, or 600km, the reaction is strangely muted.
In the past, when I told someone I was running a 10K, or a half marathon, it never got much of a response. Then when I started running marathons, the reactions got bigger: “Oh, cool. Wow.” When I started doing ultras, people would step back and stare in amazement. “What?! You're running 100 miles?!? That’s insane!!”
But with this, it’s like I’ve just told them I’m going to the local market to buy carrots. “Ah, that’s nice. When are you going?”
It’s like the numbers coming out of my mouth are just too big to make any sense. Running 100 miles seems like madness. Running 400 miles is … well, sorry, what were you saying? Could you pass the jam?
Of course, I’m not doing it to get a reaction from people, but the truth is, it has the same affect on me. I can’t quite get my head around it either. Which leaves me feeling like I’m not fully prepared for what’s coming, like it all feels too easy and casual. And that's what makes me nervous. Because, obviously, there is a hard reality coming. I just don’t know what it is yet.
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