Still undecided if I will attempt a 100-miler in the near future, but in case I do, I continue to sign up for appealing long-distance races for motivation to consistently train. In the second week of October, noticing how rapidly colder Nebraska was becoming and I may not be able to participate in another race in the state until winter passes, I hastily and almost instinctively signed up for a trail half marathon at The Ranch Run, taking place on October 29, 2016, in Elkhorn, 15 miles west of Omaha. I even convinced a friend who had never run outdoors to run a 5K in the same event, assuming the trail to be flat. The race director stated that the course, with the exception of one immense hill in each of the two loops, would be relatively flat, which felt misleading.

Always smiles. 🙂 PC: Greater Omaha Area Trail-Runnerz

PC: Greater Omaha Area Trail-Runnerz

At the starting line, the director announced, “The course will probably be a little over 13.1 miles,” after which he shot the pistol to commence the race. I, along with fellow runners, immediately disappeared into the wilderness. I was caught off guard by the technicality of the course, as I hardly saw any set trail meant to be walked on. I had not imagined the vast majority of my running to be done on steep hills, untrimmed grass, uneven trails and gravel, and occasional mud. Kearney, where I currently reside and work, holds mostly flat concrete; I, the king of generalization, therefore supposed all of Nebraska to be flat, but I no longer think this after weirdly joyfully suffering physically at The Ranch Run. Due to the hilliness and difficulty of the path, I pounded my legs to the floor more powerfully than I had in any of my previous eighteen races in the past four and a half years. Temporarily losing my way around mile four did not help ease the pain that had kicked in early on, although, thankfully, drivers passing by and a runner behind me instantly led me to the correct path. Consequently, I only thought about covering the entire race without walking, even on the brutal uphill, and did not obsess myself over achieving a personal record or pushing my body to the brink of injury. I felt I was running on a mountain but continued to remind myself, “This is supposed to hurt,” and find reasons to suck up the torment.

Congratulations to my friend Jordan on his first 5K finish!

I sprinted to the finish line, with sufficient energy remaining to cheerfully pose to the photographer simultaneously, in 2:08:58. Taking a sip of Powerade that tasted like a drop of Heaven, I saw salt covering parts of my face and arms, reminding me of the 50-miler back in December 2015. I can confidently accept The Ranch Run as my hilliest and most technical race to date, and I thank God for protecting me once again.

For the past several months, I sought activities to even temporarily distract me from the stress of my current environment. With family and most of my friends thousands of miles away, I could only rely on my Father and running to keep me from going insane. Without any hesitation, I signed up for my third 26.2 miles at the Nebraska State Fair Marathon on August 27, 2016, in Grand Island, an hour east of where I work and reside.

PC: Nebraska State Fair Marathon

The race commenced at 6:30 AM in just over 60 degrees. The course, as advertised, remained primarily flat on concrete, and I felt confident I was running my most successful marathon yet. In spite of trying to maintain a slow pace, I hit 13.1 miles just over 2:02:00, barely slower than my personal record (PR) in the half marathon. I hoped to finish under 4:20:00 but worried I may have inadvertently overdone the first half, although I still felt fresh. On mile seventeen, whether from the sudden temperature increase from the sunrise or over-pushing too early, I abruptly hit the wall. Still on track to easily break my PR set at the 2015 Publix Georgia Marathon, an exponentially more technical course, I began to incorporate walking; I figured combining walking and running would conserve my energy and secure me a faster finish time than running the rest of the course in virtual walking speed. Furthermore, due to dehydration, I overconsumed water and Gatorade and could see my stomach bloated, making running more difficult. Nearly two miles remaining, no matter how hurt, I knew I had to pour everything I had left to break my personal best. My mother’s telling me the night before to compare the marathon to life, that “sometimes life is easy, sometimes it’s hard, and sometimes you want to give up, but in the end, joy awaits,” powerfully hit me. I crossed the finish line in 4:45:37, my marathon PR by seven seconds.

With the finisher’s medal around my neck, I sat on the ground, momentarily disappointed. I attempted to rationalize why I bonked so early on and even thought, “How on Earth was I able to run 51 miles?” Nevertheless, gratitude swiftly took over and I began thanking my successfully completing another marathon without any injuries, setting a third PR in my third race this year, not dealing with stomach cramps like I often do, and having the health to frequently pursue daunting adventures like this, all of which I consistently prayed for. One lady in the marathon relay shook my hand and offered me her congratulations, saying, “I tried so hard to pass you, but then I thought, ‘What am I thinking? I’m only running 6 miles and he’s been running for 26 [point 2] miles.’ I can never do what you did. You’re the professional.” Especially following her modest compliment, I could not possibly hold any regrets.

Two-time winner of the event

Following the award ceremony, I spoke with Kenyan Geofrey Terer, two-time champion and record holder in the event. He finished the race in 2:25:44, almost twice as fast as my time and beyond my comprehension. More than his athletic ability, however, I appreciated his humility and bright personality. I also twice ran into Kaci Lickteig, winner of the female division, 2016 Western States 100 champion, and one of my favorite ultrarunners. She humbly asked me how I did, and I replied, “It was a humbling experience,” to which she reminded me to be proud of simply finishing. I cannot think of a more pleasant way to cap off this experience than talking to these two humble and respectful champions.

PC: Benjamin Johnson

Scheduled to visit my best friend at Penn State University from July 27 to August 1, 2016, I suggested we run a half marathon to recreate the memory of our first 13.1-miler together in Korea just over three years ago. Nonetheless, due to his busy academic schedule, he told me he had jogged only twice in the past year, so I instead registered for the shorter Boot Scootin’ 10K for me and the Country Kicker 5K for him at the second annual Run Country Style in Mercer, Pennsylvania, on July 30. Set on participating in the Nebraska State Fair Marathon on August 27, I reasoned running a short race in advance would prepare me both mentally and physically for the former. Furthermore, with my consistent speed progress in mind, I longed to test how fast I could run 6.2 miles specifically rather than relying on splits from longer races; as I am accustomed to conserving energy early on and covering far-longer distances, I wanted to pour every ounce of endurance in the tank from start to finish in the 10K. I told the friend the day before the event I would be content with sub-53:00 but, lacking details on the course, did not know what to expect.

The overwhelming rainstorm on our drive to the event location concerned me initially, but I trusted God would hold off this natural burden solely during the run and told the friend not to worry; the city rained significantly before and after but not during the race. Based on the results from the Run Country Style last year, I believed I had a shot at winning my age group of 25-29 but did not plan to turn the run into a bitter competition and add unnecessary pressure. I ran my own race at the pace I knew my body could manage and refused to be influenced by runners ahead of me to overpace and risk an injury. After all, my purpose of running has always been to challenge and compete with myself. At the beginning, fifteen or so runners stormed past me, to which I reacted in amusement, “Let’s see for how much longer they can keep up that pace”; many of them slowed down and even walked a few miles in, allowing me to pass. I was pleasantly surprised I could maintain my pace at a 7:00-per-mile range for the first several miles on a relatively hilly course. At times, I became distracted by adorable cows and donkeys and wanted to snap pictures but could not throw away what seemed to be an inevitable personal record in the 10K.

I gradually but barely slowed down as the race proceeded and crossed the finish line in 51:44.82, personal best and first place in my age group like I had quietly hoped and prayed. I had never cared for my time as long as I finished in long-distance events, but taking home this title encouraged me to consider focusing on enhancing time as well as distance.

What she is able to do blows my mind.

Signed up for the Lincoln National Guard Half Marathon in Nebraska’s capital on May 1, 2016, I drove to the city the day before to pick up my bib and cruise through the Expo in the Lincoln Marriott Cornhusker Hotel. Surrounded by hundreds of dedicated runners and veterans, I was reminded of the joy of embarking on this journey with strangers who share the same passion and inspiring one another. As I prepared to leave the building before the one-hour free parking expired, I ran into Kaci Lickteig, 2012 Olympic Trials qualifier in the marathon, runner-up of 2015 Western States Endurance Run, and one of the top female ultrarunners in the world today, along with her Boston Marathoner mother and best-friend pacer. Months ago, I observed the track records of the University of Nebraska at Kearney and read Kaci’s name as the university’s second fastest 10K and eighth fastest 5K female runner of all time, discovering she graduated from the school for which I work. She was even familiar with the Brazos Bend 100 and humbly complimented me on my completing the 50-miler in the event. Talking to her had me encouraged and pumped for the following day.

PC: Lincoln Marathon

Waiting for my corral to start, I told myself to never underestimate 13.1 miles; the time I did so following a 50K resulted in one of my worst performances. With 13,800 participants anxiously waiting to take off, I predicted I would never be alone throughout the course and worried I may have to spend much energy passing slower runners ahead of me as I did in both the 2014 and 2015 Publix Georgia Marathons. Although many runners were not fond of the rainy 40-degree weather, I took this to be a blessing in disguise that would help me avoid dehydration. For the first mile, I could not wipe the smile off my face, as I thought, “It feels good to be back,” especially with the fervent crowd holding up motivating and hilarious signs to cheer the runners on. In an attempt to finally achieve a sub-two-hour half marathon, I ran significantly faster than I did in training and certainly did not take a conservative approach. I was pleasantly surprised I could maintain such a high pace without exhausting myself or running out of breath. I also tried not to look over my Garmin to see how many miles I had left in the race so that I would enjoy the moment rather than desperately hoping to cross the finish line.

All smiles after three PR’s!

On mile three, I caught progressing stomach cramps. Even though I initially decided not to drink at the first couple of aid stations, I knew based on experience I needed water to resolve the issue; the pain swiftly escaped after my first cup of water. I let my weight carry me over running downhill and did not back down running uphill. On a lengthy and moderate uphill around mile seven, likely due to overpacing, I pulled a muscle in my right knee; nevertheless, I blocked the hurt out of my mind and did not let the burden slow me down. Only a 5K to go, I was en route to breaking two hours for the first time. One mile remaining, with the 2:00:00 pacer still behind me by quite some distance, I thought I had barely accomplished my time goal. According to my Garmin, I hit 13.1 miles under two hours at an average of 9:08 per mile, but the course frustratingly concluded at 13.22 miles, and my official time read 2:00:43, still my personal best. I was disheartened I had missed my goal by merely 44 seconds but proud to set personal records in the 10K and 15K splits, 56:46 and 1:25:05, respectively.

At the Expo, I wrote on the banner, “Running keeps me active and determined” for the reason I am running the Lincoln National Guard Half Marathon. If I could, I would change my answer to, “Running keeps me humble.” Each time I participate in long-distance running, I realize how vulnerable the human body can be and, without God, I cannot do anything.

Pre-race!

For months, I remained adamantly determined to attempt a 100-miler at the Brazos Bend 100 in Needville, Texas, on December 12, 2015, but instead eventually landed on a 50-miler in the same event after family, faith mentors, and friends almost unanimously opposed my initial deranged objective. Considering I had “only” completed up to a 50K previously, I convinced myself most likely finishing a 50-miler to be wiser and more rational than most likely DNF-ing a 100-miler. Though I had never been anywhere near the state, the flat course with a cool weather in December and low elevation compared to places where my body is accustomed to running felt ideal.

“Oh, crap,” I instantly reacted to the unexpected heat and humidity stepping out of the George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas, as my body had already been acclimated to one of the coldest and windiest states in America in Nebraska. Unlike sleepless nights prior to most of my races, I managed enough sleep of six hours for my second ultramarathon, just as I had begged God for months; nevertheless, I woke up with a minor headache due to the constant flying from Nebraska to Colorado and then to Texas and driving the day before. I arrived at the starting line at six in the morning for the 50-miler that started an hour following and chatted with numerous avid veterans, many of whom I ran into, talked to, and cheered for throughout this daunting journey.

Find me! PC: Myke Hermsmeyer

My clothes and hydration pack wasted no time getting soaked in my sweat in nearly 80-degree heat and 90-percent humidity; I could feel and see salt all over my hands and arms from dehydration and faced trouble inhaling all the way. I ceaselessly communicated with God, asking Him to never let go of my hand, declaring Psalm 23, and singing worship songs, which majorly contributed psychologically; “If the Creator of the universe has my back, what can’t I do?” thought I. On mile nine, I felt an unusual pain in my right ankle; a potential ankle injury had never even crossed my mind, so I panicked and desperately pleaded with my Father to relieve the hurt. After stretching at the nearest aid station while refueling, the pain swiftly escaped. I began incorporating temporary walks near the half marathon mark not because I was fatigued but to preserve energy for the latter stage. Still, I completed the first 16.74-mile loop of three in roughly three hours. The crowd’s screaming for me and commenting on my smiling toward the end of the first loop raised my adrenaline, and I felt elated for the next loop.

Look at that naive smile!

I mixed more walking with running in the second loop, again to ensure my body would have enough to finish the race. At this point, I understood God answered my and close ones’ prayers and protected my right knee from this adventure; I had specifically asked Him to numb any of my possibly existing injuries during the run, as if I have trouble finishing due to an injury, I would always believe I could run farther without the burden and challenge longer distances in a healthy physical state. I deliberately took a long route to use the bathroom after the completion of this loop, mainly to elongate the distance because my brand new Garmin watch showed a slightly shorter distance per loop than what the race website claimed.

My true adversity began in the third loop. Despite my stubbornness, I could not force my body to get used to these less-familiar running conditions; I trained on mostly even roads in the cold and powerful wind, whereas the course took place in brutal heat, humidity, mud, rocks, and rain. Several times, as I was walking, my head bounced to the left for a split second. I admitted without the prepared salt tablets and gels, I could have severely cramped up. About a half marathon to go, I was moving in sheer will. I tried to save energy to continue running, but the unforeseen vicious four-mile mud section from the heavy rain added four immense blisters to my feet and made my walking even more unpleasant than running on an even surface.

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I soon ran into a runner who was also walking in pain, and we agreed to chat and finish the race together. “I am so thankful to God for placing you here at this moment. I would’ve been so bored without you,” I told the friend. With nine miles to go, we were joined by another exhausted man. The sun had set, and we could barely see three feet forward with our headlamps and flashlights. The additional seven-mile round of mud turned my mouth into trash; I could not refrain from grunting, complaining, and cussing. When the finish line became visible, I the traitor abandoned the two runners, garnered every bit of strength I had left, and “sprinted.” When I crossed the finish line with the official time of 13:07:12, my Garmin showed a quarter of a mile short of 50 miles. USA Track & Field sanctions the Brazos Bend 100, implying the course underwent the most credible method of measuring distances; thus, I trust the race director’s 50.22 miles more than my Garmin, but, just in case, I told the volunteers to hold on to my finisher’s medal as I continued to run until my watch hit 50 miles. When I returned to receive my medal, the machine read 50.05 miles, to which a volunteer joked, “I think you ran 51 miles … we don’t have a medal for that, so you’ll just have to take this 50.”

My Garmin was quite off.

Unlike in typical running events, I enjoyed and embraced the process to the finish. I constantly encountered dedicated runners, most of whom older than I, with intriguing stories. One runner came all the way from Finland just to run this 100-miler. One runner ran the first half of a hundred miles dragging a tire. Some runners ran in sandals. Some runners ran barefoot. We had legendary runners from the Tarahumara tribe, featured in Christopher McDougall’s 2009 Born to Run, join the event. I even spotted an alligator and a snake. Closer to the end, God connected me to a lady who was solely running the 100-mile relay to liberate her mind from the toughest time of her life. I consoled her and patted her shoulder, to which she emotionally expressed, “Thank you. I feel better.”

Most ultramarathoners say, “Ultrarunning is all mental.” I was reminded of this when the second I told my mind, “The race is over,” I collapsed. My body brutally shivered in the windy high 70s like never before. My right knee could no longer straighten. My right ankle felt sprained. Parts of my body were bloodily chafed and had gained significant blisters. My head felt as if two monkeys were fighting over one banana. I could hardly finish half a ten-ounce steak after burning three days’ worth of calories. I had to be transported in a wheelchair from one side of the Denver International Airport to another the following morning. Nonetheless, the more painful I feel after a race, the prouder I become. My being the second youngest 50-mile finisher in the event adds a bit of pride.

Race results featured in the UltraRunning Magazine!

I sincerely appreciate my close ones passionately and consistently praying for me for months just so that I could materialize this ultracrazy dream. Moreover, if my former NCAA Division III runner-friend had not asked me if I were running the Publix Georgia Marathon earlier this year for the second time, I would not have considered running the marathon, which would have resulted in no succeeding ultramarathon goals; therefore, I thank her for playing a vital role in my becoming an ultrarunner. This race involved immeasurably more than just me.

Since returning to Korea on July 27, 2015, to visit family prior to moving to Kearney, Nebraska, to start a new career, I have not had one night of sleep without waking up multiple times due to the summer heat and inexplicable humidity. The minute I turn off my fan, I sweat as if I have entered a sauna. Thus, signing up for the Hope Race Half Marathon in Seoul on August 15, 2015, confused and worried my parents, especially my father. He repeated, “Why are you doing that?” roughly twenty times the week of the race.

PC: Hope Race & Cecilia Kay

This year’s August 15 marked the seventieth anniversary of Korea’s independence from Japan; therefore, superficially, this running event looked special, although the date’s significance played no role in my decision to run 13.1 miles. Aware of the danger of heat exhaustion, I consumed three half-a-liter bottles of water and slices of watermelon, not foreseeing this would force me to use the men’s room many times prior to the race. Even so, not even halfway through the run, I desperately needed to go back with nowhere to do so, not to mention I did not want to disrupt my pace by temporarily stopping. I thought of nothing but this burden, and I cannot say peeing my shorts did not cross my mind; however, a friend had promised to wait at the finish line, so that option went out the window. Fortunately, the visualizing of the toilet eventually faded with the sweating, but unfortunately, this still hurt my stomach and slowed me down considerably. The course being hillier than I expected and the strong sunlight exacerbated the hardship. Based on how powerfully the rain poured for thirty minutes before the race, I was befuddled by the abrupt weather change into extreme heat and humidity. This drained me mentally, and I kept asking myself, “What the heck am I doing here? as my father said.

The friend who insisted she would take a study break and greet me at the finish line brought me a carton of Vita Coco and took photos of my final sprint. “Why did you take so long?” asked she, but I had no idea I had fallen over fifteen minutes short of my personal record of 2:01:15 from an exponentially hillier course, completing the run in 2:18:54.59. On a standard occasion, I would have been embarrassed and frustrated, but I spotted veteran runners struggling as I in roughly ninety-degree heat and brutal humidity and countless half marathoners behind me, proving most runners, if not all, were challenged. I continued, “I don’t like how they do this in kilometers [instead of in miles] here. There are more numbers to count, so it feels longer psychologically.” My right knee remained sturdy throughout, giving me confidence the injury from the recent ultramarathon has been sufficiently healed. The only notable physical pain being a headache reminded me I should not treat running at the peak of summer the same way I treat running in a cool temperature. In spite of this race being one of my worst performances to date, I gained valuable experience and have no regrets.

Watching a Tarawera Ultramarathon documentary, I became eager to claim an ultramarathoner status and sought a 50-kilometer race. Though sudden, I have consistently run for three years and did not think this would be an unreasonable step-up. Out of the several 50K trail runs I came across online, I found the Wambaw Swamp Stomp, taking place on May 2, 2015, in Cordesville, South Carolina, to be the most rational, considering the event’s flat course and being neighbors with my state of Georgia. Once I signed up, for advice, I contacted two world-class ultrarunners, Sage Canaday and Ruth Croft, who suggested I concentrate on nutrition while running and train on trails.

I drove over seven hours to reach TrySports for packet pickup and then my hotel in South Carolina, and, like before most running events, I could not fall asleep the night before race day. Grumpy, sleepy, and annoyed, I dressed up and hydrated early in the morning prior to discovering I forgot to pack my pair of earphones. I panicked, that I may have to run the longest race of my life without the psychological support of music. On the bright side, this freaking out utterly woke me up, and I thankfully found a gas station that sold cheap earphones that barely worked on my way to the Witherbee Ranger Station, where the race took place. Relieved, I praised God. I, the youngest 50K participant, asked amiable veterans various questions about the course and trail running in general at the prerace. I felt a stronger bond and sense of community with every runner than I normally do in road races, as we only had each other without the crowd on the streets cheering us on with motivating signs.

PC: Brian Fancher

I started the race up front with inspiring 50-milers and kept up for the first four miles. The frontrunners disappeared in the wilderness, and I as well passed many. My chief concern related to getting lost, as I had never participated in a legitimate trail race. This nightmare nearly came to fruition twice toward the beginning, but both times, I had a runner either behind or in front helping me stay on track until I became accustomed to the trail marks. I took this as God’s answer to my prayer, as I could have lost my ways without my two unintentional saviors. Confident early on, I even thought I could win the 50K because I did not spot any of its participants ahead of me and felt I could maintain this pace for days, then I tripped. I bounced back up immediately, but I was worried that snapped my flow and wasted energy unnecessarily. Having sprained my right knee from that never crossed my mind, as I still remained full of vigor until the midpoint, Aid Station C. I stopped to rehydrate on Coca-Cola, Skratch Lab, and water, and when I resumed running, I instantly felt pain in my right knee. The rocky and uneven path to Aid Station D did not help, and my drastically slowing down became inevitable, especially with continuous inadvertent kicking of rocks on the ground, jumping over logs, dodging branches, and dragging myself in mud. Runners constantly passed me, and when I turned around from Aid Station D and returned to Aid Station C, I stretched while ingesting more fluids. When I carried on, the bad knee had already locked up and been torturing me. I reminded myself, “Physical pain is temporary. When I finish this, the memory will last forever,” and stomped my right leg to the floor repeatedly to numb the hurt. I felt sufficiently anesthetized to continue running. Seeing no end and no person around but nature, I could not help but reflect on my post-college life and whatever made me happy to reinvigorate me.

PC: Brian Fancher

When I arrived at Aid Station B, I took some time to rest my right knee. Terrible idea. When I continued, my right knee could no longer bend, and the suffering magnified. I tried the barbaric stomping-the-ground technique again to no avail. I reluctantly decided to walk for the first time to hopefully recover adequately to finish strong. This may have been my wisest decision of the day, as this one-mile walking break revived my damaged leg just enough for me to continue the agonizing running. To hit 50 kilometers, I had approximately six miles to go, but according to the Soleus GPS watch I borrowed from a church friend, completing the original course included in the instruction packet would have meant closer to 55 kilometers. I did hear from a volunteer at the recent aid station that the race director may shorten the end to make the distance more accurate, which made me dearly hope for that.

I used my friend’s watch and asked her for this photo.

Individuals offered me painkillers, but my perfectionism convinced me this could be considered cheating and reject. Fellow runners passing me or coming back my way with a pat on my shoulder and word of encouragement helped light up my mood, but I cannot fathom my stubbornness to refuse to quit or receive any assistance. When I finally returned to Aid Station A, I was told the race director had indeed abbreviated the race-ending back loop to make the run 50 kilometers even. Thrilled, I garnered the little energy I had left and finished my first ultramarathon in 6:55:00. When I look back, I do not understand how I was able to run the last 20 miles on virtually one leg, but having completed this already-challenging task handicapped makes me even prouder.

I continued to tell fellow runners, many of whom I made friends and conversed with post-race, that I wanted to feel I could not run any farther after the 50 kilometers, as if I did not, I would have regretted not registering for the 50-miler instead. My desire materialized, and I will cherish this achievement for the rest of my life. People call half-marathoners “only half crazy” and marathoners “crazy.” What does that make ultramarathoners?

A week following my Hot Chocolate 15K in late January, I went on a one-hour jog and felt surprisingly confident in my endurance. Therefore, I instantly registered for the Publix Georgia Marathon, scheduled on March 22, 2015, in the state capital for the second consecutive year, giving me less than two months to prepare. Two days prior, I attended the event Expo and had the opportunity to meet and converse with three IRONMAN finishers. One of the three competed in four separate world championships, including the most renowned event in Kona, Hawaii, just in one year. Watching various documentaries on the sport, I had recently set my ultimate athletic goal to becoming an IRONMAN in Kona. Talking to those with experience motivated me that, with dedication, this dream could be achievable. I have already reached the marathoner status last year, but if anyone would have told me I would eventually be running a marathon three years ago, I would have called him/her crazy.

These hills are inexplicable.

I had already once conquered the Publix Georgia Marathon, so I knew what to expect in terms of its course, specifically the ceaseless brutal uphills the second half. With more frequent and effective training, I had faith I could improve my run and finish time from those of the year before. I set my sole objective to completing the race without walking, as I was unable to do so the first try, heavily due to my painful stomach cramps that remained for the final eleven miles. Hence, I unprecedentedly focused on my diet, eating abundant meat until race week, when I would increase my consumption of carbohydrates. I knew I had done all in my power to perform to the best of my ability, although the ongoing heavy rain on race day caught me off guard. The first fifteen to sixteen miles proceeded as smoothly as I had imagined, but because of my adversity on mile seventeen last year, I became nervous and afraid. My head continued to tell me to start walking uphill with eleven miles left in the race to conserve energy, as my body rapidly cramped up and legs could not move even remotely as fluidly and quickly as they did the first half of the race; nonetheless, my heart repeated, “Physical pain is temporary. Giving up would stay with me forever.” From this point forward, each time I faced uphill, I deliberately looked to the ground, as I presumed running hills as half psychological; if I looked down, I would not have visualized the slope, which would have helped distract my mind from the intimidating angle. After 4:45:44, I finally achieved my target of running the entire course. As soon as I crossed the finish line and received my finisher’s medal, I sat down and all of my leg muscles simultaneously tightened. I barely stood up with the help of a volunteer, who assisted me to the medical tent to tape ice onto my locked-up knees for fifteen minutes. Even though I planned to run the entire race, I was unsure my mentality and physicality could carry me to the finish line without my walking a single time. This may have been my greatest athletic achievement to date.

Having recently accomplished the ATL Challenge 39.3 that would have felt to be a mere fantasy three years ago, I supposed I had reached my pinnacle in running and faced trouble reigniting my drive to continue seeking physical challenges. I still ran once or twice a week to maintain my unprecedented fitness, built from three years of consistent training. Towards the end of last year, I was drawn to the charming title of Hot Chocolate 15K and spontaneously registered, slightly worried about the event’s taking place at the peak of winter on January 25, 2015, in Atlanta, Georgia.

I asked multiple friends to join me to no avail. I purchased boxer briefs the night before to prevent chafing my Tootsie Roll, which had occurred in several races. Riding my 50cc moped for nearly thirty minutes to Turner Field prior to sunrise cooled down and tensed up my muscles, and I sufficiently stretched and jogged to minimize the risk of shocking my body in the cold. Whether due to the unusually low temperature, exacerbated by powerful winds, or my lack of training, I spent the first two miles searching for my ideal pace. The course unexpectedly but unsurprisingly remained craggy from beginning to end, but I was never physically fatigued even after the final sprint. Nonetheless, because I could not relocate the fire that enabled me to do as much as I have in running, I was mentally drained from the start and could not sense my typical race-day adrenaline rush. Perhaps as a result, my finish time fell roughly ten minutes short of my goal of 1:20:00. Fellow runners have been asking me if I planned to run at the Publix Georgia Marathon again in mid-March, but I waited to complete the Hot Chocolate 15K first to evaluate my condition before answering them. I still do not know, mainly as I doubt less than two months could be enough to prepare me for my second marathon in infamously hilly Atlanta and I am uncertain if I will still be residing in Georgia then. I would not be surprised by either decision, but participating in this insane yet familiar test may refuel my motivation for running.

The Michelob ULTRA Atlanta 13.1 Marathon in Cumming, Georgia, on October 4, 2014, the only task standing between the ATL Challenge 39.3 and me, could not have come soon enough. Upon arrival, I joined a group of athletes in front of a building under a narrow roof that blocked the frigid wind. I initiated conversations with numerous fellow runners, coincidentally including two girls who also graduated from Emory College of Arts and Sciences and currently study at the Emory University School of Medicine. When I discovered they ran cross country and track and field in NCAA Division III, I was no longer surprised by these humble and quiet friends’ finishing second and third in their age group and twenty minutes earlier than I did.

Top PC: Michelob ULTRA Atlanta 13.1 Marathon

Having conquered a much more physically demanding and twice as long of a course at the Publix Georgia Marathon in March of this year, I underestimated this half marathon. While running, I typically breathe through my nostrils rather than mouth as long as I can, as this strategy I learned about in the army helps conserve energy. However, the initial wintry temperature and frequent powerful wind interfered with my standard breathing and stung my nostrils, so I had no choice but to keep my mouth open for the majority of the run, which momentarily diminished my confidence. Just like during the Publix Georgia Marathon, I was repeatedly confronted by stomach cramps, but they failed to slow me down.

Unlike in previous races, I targeted a finish time, sub-2:00:00. I checked the time at every mile stop, and with slightly over a mile left to go, I believed I had sufficient time to barely accomplish this goal before encountering the unforeseen uphill onslaught. I sprinted the last several hundred feet, and my finish time in the system read 2:04:55. Though disappointed, I knew I had poured out every ounce of my stamina and strength into this tedious objective and had no regrets. More importantly, I finally concluded the ATL Challenge 39.3 that I had been eyeing since the summer of 2013 and even placed first in my age group of 25-29 of both male and female runners. I will continue to seek adversity to train humility and perseverance.