That's the essence of flow: taking on something a little intimidating, conquering it, and relishing in the unbeatable reward of being able to do what was just a short while ago seemingly impossible. And if someone wants to chase that feeling for 50-plus miles, well, who can blame them?
I didn't say a word to anyone about it, not even my husband, because I was embarrassed. Because I felt ashamed. In those short few seconds they saw me, they didn't really see me. They chose to see just one thing. My weight. Not me. They only saw my weight.
I don't know the answer. Not for you. Barely for me. Except that it's my life, so I'm experimenting on myself. Fine tuning the dial. Sometimes I get it wrong and I've just plain suffered and am unhappy. But other times ... make room for my joy.
What was I doing standing on the starting line of a 50-mile race? To be honest, that question never crossed my mind and I suppose if that seems like a logic question to ask then you probably don't understand why I stood there.
I wish that I could say that becoming an ultrarunner came with some poetic philosophical realization, and I'm sure there's a lesson to be found somewhere. But, I'm not going to dig for it. I'm just going to take a deep breath, and keep on putting one foot in front of the other.