Why Run 100 Miles?
This is a question I get a lot—and one I wrestled with during my latest ultramarathon. Why put myself through so much unnecessary struggle? I battle with this both on and off the trail. It’s not an easy question to answer because there is no correct one. I’m still uncertain why anyone would be so insane as to put themselves through such a harsh physical event, often leading to injuries and months of recovery. However, I’ve come to learn a few things.
The experience on the trails cannot be bought. No amount of money can run 100 miles for you, and it certainly can’t push you through the adversity you’ll face along the way. When you find yourself 80+ miles into a 100-mile endurance event, there’s nothing and no one that can put you in that position except you. It’s the hardest yet most straightforward physical challenge there is—move your body to the 100-mile mark, or don’t.
So imagine this: you set out, months or even years in advance, with the simple and terrifying goal of finishing a 100-mile ultramarathon. You train relentlessly, prepare mentally, and do everything in your power to be your best on race day. You toe the line, filled with nerves, and the race begins. You’ve practiced your pacing, nutrition, and have run hundreds—maybe thousands—of miles. The nerves soon fade, as they always do once you start moving. Then, you’re at war. You climb mountains, descend into valleys, and push through uneven terrain and mud. Every aid station feels like a breath of fresh air—you pop out of the wilderness to refuel, only to head back in moments later.
Through the hours of wear on your body, you face adversity after adversity (it’s just going to happen). Your feet blister, your body aches and cramps, and your stomach turns. Even more challenging, your mind begins to doubt. You question—why? Why run 100 miles? You still haven’t found an answer, but you continue. You find yourself 80 miles in, moving slower than you have all race. The sun has been down for hours, and you’re at your lowest. You ask yourself again: why? Your original reasons vanished long ago. There’s no “why” anymore—just you and the shell of your body.
In the past, I would have told you that my reason was to test my physical and mental limits, or to finish for the people who showed up to support me. But in my latest race, none of that felt true. There was no reason—and the more I searched for one, the less I found. Maybe I’m just too stubborn to quit. Maybe this race felt less significant because I’ve been here before. Or maybe running this race simply didn’t make sense for me at this point in my life.
Here’s what I think now: you don’t always need a profound “why.” In the heat of the moment, it won’t always be clear. Even months later, you might not know why it mattered—but somehow, it does. You overcame adversity with all odds stacked against you. You pushed through those mountains and valleys and faced immense doubt. You learned that you can achieve great things with the bare minimum. It takes adversity to teach that.
This isn’t supposed to be a perfectly packaged motivational article—it’s supposed to be raw and honest. If there’s one thing to take from this, it’s that in your deepest, darkest moments, just take another step. And even if it takes a hundred thousand more, one day you’ll look back and realize how far you’ve come.
And then, you’ll set out to take one more step.
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Jackson Roth
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Why Run 100 Miles?
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