On Success, Belonging, and the Ray Miller 50 Miler

Photo by Jesse Ellis with Let's Wander Photography

Run enough ultra marathons, and you may begin to realize that the definition of a  “successful race” can have absolutely nothing to do with numbers. In fact, depending on the factors at play, one may not even have to finish said race to feel like success was achieved. There are myriad elements that come together to form the experience of an ultra. Success lies at the intersection of the runner, their goals, the interplay of factors affecting the day…I could go on. And on.

The Ray Miller 50 Miler was one such race for me. The numbers just don’t tell the whole story.

First, allow me to introduce you: Ray Miller is a tough and rugged event that takes place in Pt. Mugu State Park in the northern reaches of the Santa Monica Mountains here in Southern California. It runs primarily on single-track trail that undulates up ridge-lines and skirts tall, other-worldly shaped peaks, cascades down canyons, through pristine meadows, all the while skimming the ragged knife-edge where land meets the Pacific Ocean.

It is show-stoppingly beautiful. And, with approximately 10k of vertical gain in 50 miles, it is also quite difficult.

This is the race I chose to run as the finisher to my first season back to ultras after spending most of 2022 sidelined by a hip stress fracture. It also just so happened to take place on my birthday, so I viewed it as an opportunity to write a kick-ass opener to my 37th trip around the sun.

What was clouding the water of this experience was the memory of my last ultramarathon-the 2023 Cuyamaca 100k. It…hadn’t gone so well. In short, though I ended up crossing the finish line that day, my mental game utterly fell to pieces. This fracturing in my mind was a symptom of larger life and mental health issues that were going on at the time, which, as any runner can tell you, has a huge effect on what comes out on race day. After crossing that finish line, I felt a little broken and a lot lost. An experience like that can bring up a lot of questions for anyone, not the least of which for me was:

Am I cut out for this? …but perhaps what I was really asking was: Do I belong here, in ultra running?

It rattled, it shook, it rolled around my brain. It was a question that bled out from running and into other parts of my life, too. It was a question that I took to the people who cared about me and we talked it through. Family, friends, coaches, mental health professionals…they assured me that I did. But, even with their support, I still had to analyze and answer that question for myself.

So I stood on the start line that cold, dark morning, stars twinkling and nerves humming as the unseen ocean crashed at the feet of the expansive ridges in front of us, and this question (and a lot of other questions that come with running an ultra) weaved itself in and out of my mind. And slowly, a wave of peace washed over me. I realized that I had already answered my big question. In fact, it actually had been answered for years. In training, in injury, in highs, and in lows. That no matter what the day held, I already belonged. Because this consistent, relentless pursuit of miles and my best…this is what I love. That no matter what the day held, I would still come back to the trails after I had healed and would return to the trails to hear the pounding of my feet against the earth. Nothing could change that.

Inhale. Exhale. And then…we began.

Photo by Jesse Ellis with Let's Wander Photography

As I started up that first ridge, one light among a mass of runners heading out for the unknown, I smiled. Nothing could take from me what I already embodied-I am an ultra marathoner. No high or low, no pace or placement, could change that. As my feet transported me to places I had never seen, the miles flew by. I continually grounded myself in my senses and what I was experiencing. This wild, beautiful day was mine to experience, in all of its difficulty and pain and lessons and triumph. Make no mistake, there were moments where the steep climbs and rocky descents attempted to chip away at my positivity, when discouragement tried to take root in my mind and convince me that my race day would succumb to the struggle. But every time, I brought myself back to the sound of my feet and the battles I have fought over the past few months, the past few years. I am still breathing. I am still fighting. I am still running. And I am still me: focused, chin up, and ever moving forward.

It was during the final climb of the course, somewhere around the 45th mile, that the sun began to set in earnest. The sky turned a rainbow of colors and the mountains that I had climbed, the ones that made up the crux of the course, glowed a fiery red in the distance. It was as if they themselves were reminding me that I was capable of so much, that I could look back over all of what I’ve come through and be proud, that there will be so many more mountains to climb and valleys to explore. Soon after, the trail tipped over the summit of the ridge and I completed the last few miles down, down to the finish line and awaiting family as the darkness rolled over the land like a shroud of purple velvet.

My day on that course was finished. And yes…it was a successful race. Successful in the fact that I stood firm in my resolve as a runner doing what I love, that I stepped into and owned all of what I had been through and where I am going. Successful in that I was able to take the broken pieces of the past few months and, with the help of a village, make something beautiful during my time on the Ray Miller course. As it turned out, there were actually no questions to ask as I stepped up to that start line. They had already been answered long ago.

One event cannot prove or disprove a person’s place in the world of running. And really, let’s expand that sentiment to whatever pursuit has lodged itself firmly in your spirit. Belonging is found in the days, weeks, months, years of consistency and dedication to the work. The story of your quest to strive after what you love will continue to be in progress as long as you choose to keep writing it. Please keep the pen to paper and keep writing. This world needs more stories like yours- and I can’t wait to read it.

Photo by Jesse Ellis with Let's Wander Photography