For the past few weeks, I’ve been completely captivated by coverage of the Cocodona 250 - a 254 mile ultramarathon across Arizona with over 36,000 feet of elevation gain and a cutoff time measured in days, not hours. Watching runners push through exhaustion, sleep deprivation, heat, cold, dirt naps and hallucinations, I kept finding myself thinking, “That’s incredible. I want to do that!” But after a few days, I realized that I don’t actually want to run 250 miles. I don’t even want to run 50 miles. Truthfully, running 26 miles at the end of an Ironman feels long enough.
What I was really drawn to wasn’t the race itself, it was what the race represented: challenge, grit, resilience, purpose, and the pursuit of something meaningful. This got me thinking that there are probably a lot of people like me who confuse being inspired by someone else’s finish line with needing to chase it themselves.
There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by people doing extraordinary things. In many ways, that inspiration is one of the best parts of endurance sports.
I signed up for an Ironman after watching the NBC broadcast of the Ironman World Championship.
I signed up for my first extreme triathlon after watching documentaries of XTRI Norseman.
I signed up for the 7-stage Haute Route Alps after years of watching cyclists in the Tour de France.
Watching someone attempt something that seems impossible reminds us that humans are capable of far more than we think. It expands our perspective, it challenges our limits and makes us dream bigger.
As a result, our goals become bigger, longer, harder, or more extreme.
A 5K becomes a half marathon.
A half marathon becomes a marathon.
A marathon becomes a 50-miler.
A 50-miler becomes a 100-miler.
And eventually, even finishing something objectively difficult like a marathon starts to feel “small” because someone else is doing something even more extreme.
The endurance culture loves suffering, massive mileage, impossible distances, and events that sound superhuman. And honestly, those things are very impressive. But the downside is when we start treating those events as the standard definition of what counts as “epic”
Because epic is relative.
For one person, an epic challenge might be a 250-mile ultramarathon through the Arizona desert. For someone else, it might be exercising consistently for the first time in years. It might be finishing a sprint triathlon after battling cancer. It might be training for a marathon while studying for a degree.
The emotional experience of something epic is personal. And most importantly, the accomplishment is personal.
I’ve always chased races that excite me. I love to travel and immerse myself in new cultures. I love challenging race courses because they are often in beautiful locations surrounded by nature. But I also fall victim to looking into events that get massive online attention and assume that those events are worth me pursuing.
Note to self: Just because something is inspiring does not mean it’s meant for you.
Thankfully, I didn’t convince myself that I need to race Cocodona 250 to feel successful. I absolutely respect the athletes running Cocodona without needing to become one of them.
The truth is that I know what I want to get out of being an endurance athlete and it isn’t necessarily more extremity. I want training consistency. I want great health. I want to enjoy hobbies outside of training. I want to feel challenged. I want to see what I’m capable of. I want to travel. I want to share my training with others. I want goals that stretch me without consuming my entire life. I want experiences that leave me fulfilled, not empty.
My point is that you don’t need to constantly chase bigger and more punishing finish lines to feel successful. You just need to chase events that are genuinely meaningful to you.
There will always be someone running farther, climbing higher, training longer or suffering more. If we constantly measure ourselves to others, our own achievements will never feel enough.
Your epic challenge does not become less meaningful simply because someone else’s epic challenge is more extreme.
You do not need a 250-mile race to prove that you are a serious trail runner. You do not need an Ironman to validate your identity as a triathlete. You do not need to chase someone else’s finish line to have your own meaningful journey.
I will always be inspired by athletes attempting incredibly challenging feats. But just because someone does something epic, I don’t need to make it my path.
If you spend your entire athletic life chasing someone else’s finish line, you may never fully appreciate the power of crossing your own.