by Scott Jurek
Shingo stayed two laps in the lead, and even when shadows lengthened and beers and wines replaced the small cups of espresso at the streetside tables, I stayed with my pace. Revelers shouted and cheered all through the night.
The rhythm continued until it wasn’t even a rhythm. It was just being. It was everything and nothing. The great Yiannis Kouros—who holds the world record of 180 miles at 24 hours on the road—has spoken and written of looking down on himself as he ran. I didn’t leave my body. But I saw my father in the woods and watched him mime God letting dirt slide through his fingers. There was my mother, laughing, ladling my plate of mashed potatoes with butter. There were blindingly orange carrots, tomatoes redder than fire trucks. There were mouthfuls of guacamole so rich that I started salivating. I heard Dave Terry opening a bottle of beer, watched him lean back in his kitchen and tell me that not all pain is significant. There was Dusty, beckoning me to keep going, keep going. I saw the electric blue of Silvino and the majestic stride of Arnulfo, and I didn’t wonder how they did it anymore, I understood their secret. We can all understand it. We can live as we were meant to live—simply, joyously, of and on the earth. We can live with all our effort and with pure happiness.
I ran for 8 hours before I listened to music. The piercing clarity had left me by then. Would it return? I put on my iPod then, but I didn’t know what songs were playing. I ate noodle soup as I ran, and as much as I loved food—as much as eating brought me unmitigated joy—there were times when I couldn’t taste it. I had never been so lonely. On the edge of the course away from the revelers, there was only the sound of the river massaging the rocks, the wind combing the leaves of the trees, and the birds about to welcome a new day.
Nine hours. Ten hours.
Our past makes us, and we can’t help but plan for the future. Some days I feel my mother’s warm, strong hands on mine. Some days I envision the time I’ll slow down, even stop and rest.
Fourteen hours. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen hours.
The next month, I would deliver speeches, attend conferences, and accept accolades. In June of 2010, Jenny and I would drive to New Mexico and pull weeds on Kyle Skaggs’s organic farm, then on to Boulder, Colorado. Shortly thereafter Dusty would show up, and we would eat together and train together and repair our friendship. In September I would visit U.S. military troops in Kuwait and run there, and tell soldiers about running and listen to their stories about war. But on the snaking French course, the future didn’t matter. The past was gone. There was only the trail, only movement. There was only now. And now was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything. I ran. I ran and I ran.
Dawn would come. It had to. The race would end. I would finish. I knew all that. But what should have been self-evident truths felt like prayers.
Seventeen hours. Would clarity ever return?
Wise Buddhist teachers advise pilgrims to chop wood and carry water until they encounter blinding, transformational epiphany. After that moment of electric bliss, the teachers say, chop more wood and carry more water. Running had brought me peace and clarity, and I kept running. Then the serenity was gone, and there was only the sad, sighing wind. I kept running.
I knew my feet were moving, but I couldn’t feel them. I thought of the Taoism I had studied, one of the many teachings that had nothing—and everything—to do with running. Specifically, I wondered if I was at that moment practicing wu wei, or “doing without doing.”
I kept running. I thought of Jenny, and Dusty, and my family, and Hippie Dan and Ian and Dean Potter and all the people I had met through running. I climbed the mountains of Colorado and slogged through the valleys of California and jogged through the markets of Japan and the vineyards of Greece, and I saw all the people and places running had given me. I thought of pain, too. I thought of my recent yoga sessions, when my teacher, Big Bill, saw me struggling and said, “This is what you came for!”
Eighteen hours.
“This is what you came for.” I repeated it like a mantra. Nineteen hours. More soup. Another Clif Shot. More bananas and big gulps of water. “This is what you came for.” As I said it, I realized that it sounded a lot like “Sometimes you just do things.”
At the end of 19 hours, I saw Team USA Coach Mike Spindler yelling times and lap counts for the American record. If I kept up my pace, I had a shot. Twenty hours. Twenty-one hours.
Twenty-two hours, 23 hours. The announcer called out my mileage. Other runners glanced over their shoulder as I approached and moved aside. A few French runners shouted, “Allez, Scott. Allez, USA!”
I hit 162 miles with a half hour left, and a Team USA coach handed me an American flag. I held it proudly overhead for the last five laps, the last 30 minutes.
At 10 A.M. on Friday I finished, a mile and a half ahead of Ivan Cudin, who set a new Italian record, and 4 miles behind Shingo Inoue, who set a new Japanese record (by only 300 meters).
I had run 165.7 miles—an American record. No other North American had run farther in 24 hours. I had done what I had set out to do. It was time to rest. Then I would eat. And then, run again.
They are simple activities, common as grass. And they’re sacred. Pilgrims seeking bliss carry water and chop wood, and they’re simple things, too, but if they’re approached with mindfulness and care, with attention to the present and humility, they can provide a portal to transcendence. They can illuminate the path leading to something larger than ourselves.
It’s easy to get wrapped up in deadlines and debt, victory and loss. Friends squabble. Loved ones leave. People suffer. A 100-mile race—or a 5K, or a run around the block—won’t cure pain. A plate filled with guacamole and dinosaur kale will not deliver anyone from sorrow.
But you can be transformed. Not overnight, but over time. Life is not a race. Neither is an ultramarathon, not really, even though it looks like one. There is no finish line. We strive toward a goal, and whether we achieve it or not is important, but it’s not what’s most important. What matters is how we move toward that goal. What’s crucial is the step we’re taking now, the step you’re taking now.
Everyone follows a different path. Eating well and running free helped me find mine. It can help you find yours. You never know where that path might take you.
Xocolatl (SHOCK-o-laht) Energy Balls
A good meal—like a good story—deserves a satisfying ending. After working on this one for years, I think I finally perfected it. The natural caffeine in the raw cacao nibs delivers a jolt, and the subtle blend of chili flakes and cinnamon will gratify the most demanding dessert lover. It’s a tasty treat and an energy boost, perfect for after-dinner relaxation or on a long run.
Mesquite powder was first used by native people, including the Shoshone of Death Valley. You can find it in natural food stores in the raw section or online. It can be omitted, but it adds a subtle sweetness and robust finish.
½ cup raw cacao nibs
½ cup raw cashews
8 medium dates
1 teaspoon mesquite powder
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon raw vanilla powder or extract
¼ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
⅛ teaspoon sea salt
1½ teaspoons raw coconut oil (warmed to liquid consistency)
Combine all the ingredients except the coconut oil in a food processor and process for 3 to 5 minutes until chopped to a fine consistency. Transfer the mixture to a mixing bowl. Add the melted coconut oil and stir until well combined. Form into 1-inch round balls and place on waxed paper. Refrigerate for 15 to 20 minutes, then transfer to an airtight container. The balls will keep for 2 weeks, refrigerated.
MAKES ONE DOZEN 1-INCH BALLS
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is like running an ultramarathon. There are challenging climbs, moments where simply taking a step forward feels like the most difficult task in the world. Other times, progress is effortless, and the ease seems like it will last forever. An ultramarathoner needs a cr
ew to get through the difficult stretches, to help locate the sweet spots, merely to keep moving. I needed one for this book, too. Without a diligent and talented support crew, Eat and Run would not have crossed the finish line.
This book would not exist if my good buddy and classmate in the school of hard knocks, Dusty Olson, hadn’t convinced me to run my first 50-miler back in 1994. He was the first, and closest, of the small and eclectic group of athletes, free thinkers, and health seekers to inspire me. Although there are too many to mention, I am indebted to them all. They teach me that anything is possible.
Shannon Weil first prodded me to write a book ten years ago. As co-founding race director of the Western States 100, she has a knack for igniting the spark of potential. Then came along Audrey Young, close friend and passionate writer, who didn’t let me get away with saying I was too busy to put together a book proposal. I doubt this book would have come to fruition if it wasn’t for her generous time and effort.
My agent, Larry Weissman, and his wife, Sascha, saw something more in my story and helped me bring that first proposal to new heights. Susan Canavan and her amazing team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt have acted as chief support crew, knowing when to lend encouraging advice and when to crack the whip.
Steve Friedman has been my pacer and humble cowriter. A long-time fan of his work, I knew that if I ever did write a book, I would want Steve and his creative keyboard at my side. Besides putting up with my ultra persistence and scattered ideas, Steve helped narrate my life in a way I never would have been able to do, this despite his never running a single step in an ultramarathon. I suspect he now harbors secret ambitions of turning vegan and running a 100-miler. If he does, I’ll be there to pace him.
Sarah Deming, his lovely and diligent assistant, tirelessly researched details of ultrarunning and nutrition that I didn’t even know existed. Her interviewing skills pulled gems I had long forgotten from friends and mentors. A boxer turned runner (she ran her first half marathon after working on the book), I would never want to pick a fight with her. She is indomitable and relentless. And I hear she packs a punch.
Steve, Sarah, and I owe much to friends, family, and experts who graciously gave their precious time in countless interviews. Because of you this book has one more story or one more hint as to what makes me tick. Specifically, I would like to thank Kevin Pates at the Duluth News Tribune for being principal historian of my early running career, Neal Barnard, M.D., and Susan Levin, M.S., R.D., at Physician’s Committee for Responsible Medicine for their scientific knowledge of a plant-based diet, Timothy Noakes, M.D., D.Sc., Zachary Landman, M.D., and David C. Nieman, Ph.D., who I revere for their ceaseless quest to explain the science behind ultra-endurance. Writing sage Christopher McDougall gave invaluable input and advice on the manuscript and reassured me that there was always an end in sight.
The visuals provided by my generous and artistic friends behind the lens make my story come to life. I am thankful for all who have captured my life in photos that speak for themselves.
There are so many people who influenced my life. While I may not mention you by name, you know who you are. You led me to the rugged, less-traveled trails.
Words do not describe the appreciation I have for Jenny, my trusty partner in life and best friend. She agreed with me about getting Steve to collaborate on the book, and when it looked like the partnership might not occur, she made sure it did. When Jenny wants something to happen, it usually does. I cannot thank her enough for being by my side on many of my all-nighters. She gave this book countless hours of editing and her creative eye. She also brought to it—and me—an understanding of why I chase the dreams I chase, even though they may not seem to make sense. The journey is always more fun and fulfilling with her stride by stride.
Often we need to retrace our steps back to the beginning. I would not be able to run if not for my parents. Dad, while we may not have always seen eye to eye, you provided a simple yet profound wisdom that has made me who I am. “Do things,” you told me. Not sometimes. Always. Mom, while you lost the ability to perform basic tasks that many of us take for granted, you never stopped smiling and finding the morsels of joy in life. If I can maintain that same attitude I will have succeeded. My running idols may have logged more miles and climbed bigger mountains, but you are my main inspiration. I will never stop running for you.
Lastly, I owe a huge debt to the best fans in the world—from the many race volunteers, to the young runners who write letters, to the dedicated followers who send pre-race messages and post-race high fives. I continually receive motivation and support from your stories. You all remind me why I run, why we all run.
Ultramarathon Race History
Note: This is a partial list.
* Indicates new course record at that time
1994
Minnesota Voyageur, 2nd place (7:44)
1995
Minnesota Voyageur, 2nd place (7:24)
1996
Minnesota Voyageur, 1st place (7:10)
Point Reyes 50K, 7th place (4:24)
Edmund Fitzgerald 100K (USATF 100K Road National Championships), 4th place (7:33)
1997
Minnesota Voyageur, 1st place (7:18)
1998
Crown King Scramble 50K, 2nd place (4:34)
Zane Grey 50-Mile, 1st place (8:49)*
Ice Age Trail 50-Mile, 3rd place (6:23)
Minnesota Voyageur, 1st place (6:41)*
McKenzie River Trail Run 50K, 1st place (3:49)*
Angeles Crest 100-Mile Endurance Run, 2nd place (19:15)
Mountain Masochist 50-Mile Trail Run, 5th place (7:40)
1999
San Juan Trail 50K, 2nd place (4:25)
Way Too Cool 50K, 4th place (3:48)
Bull Run Run 50-Mile, 1st place (6:30)
McDonald Forest 50K, 1st place (4:11)
Ice Age Trail 50-Mile, 3rd place (6:21)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (17:34)
White River 50-Mile, 3rd place (6:55)
Bend Distillery 50K, 2nd place (3:05)
Angeles Crest 100-Mile Endurance Run, 2nd place (19:51)
2000
Chuckanut 50K, 2nd place (4:22)
Diez Vista 50K, 1st place (4:26)*
Leona Divide 50-Mile, 1st place (7:01)*
Miwok 100K, 11th place (9:54)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (17:15)
McDonald Forest 50K, 4th place (4:36)
2001
Jed Smith 50K, 4th place (3:26)
Way Too Cool 50K, 16th place (4:00)
GNC 50K, 4th place (3:24)
GNC 100K (USATF 100K Road National Championships), 4th place (7:28)
Leona Divide 50-Mile, 1st place (6:59)*
McDonald Forest 50K, 2nd place (4:17)
Miwok 100K, 2nd place (8:42)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (16:38)
Baldy Peaks 50K, 3rd place (6:14)
OXFAM Hong Kong Trailwalker, 1st place team (12:52)*
2002
Leona Divide 50-Mile, 1st place (6:46)*
Promise Land 50K, 2nd place (4:37)
Miwok 100K, 1st place (8:44)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (16:19)
White River 50-Mile, 5th place (7:16)
Tamalpa Headlands 50K, 12th place (4:15)
Silvertip 50K, 1st place (4:18)*
OXFAM Hong Kong Trailwalker 100K, 1st place team (12:47)*
White River 50-Mile (USATF Trail National Championships), 5th place (7:16)
2003
Way Too Cool 50K, 5th place (3:41)
Diez Vista 50K, 1st place (4:25)*
Zane Grey 50-Mile, 5th place (8:50)
Miwok 100K, 1st place (8:44)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (16:01)
White River 50-Mile (USATF Trail National Championships), 5th place (7:13)
Hasegawa Cup—Japan Mountain Endurance Run 77K, 1st place team<
br />
2004
Way Too Cool 50K, 3rd place (3:46)
Leona Divide 50-Mile, 1st place (6:45)*
Zane Grey 50-Mile, 6th place (8:57)
Miwok 100K, 1st place (8:47)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (15:36)*
Vermont 100-Mile, 5th place (16:41)
Leadville Trail 100, 2nd place (18:02)
Wasatch Front 100-Mile, 17th place (27:21)
2005
Way Too Cool 50K, 10th place (4:09)
Chuckanut 50K, 11th place (4:24)
Diablo 50-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (9:10)
Promise Land 50K, 2nd place (4:59)
Miwok 100K, 2nd place (8:43)
McDonald Forest 50K, 3rd place (4:51)
Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, 1st place (16:40)
Badwater Ultramarathon, 1st place (24:36)*