Type 4 Fun!

…And Another Thing

On 10/10/2025, a Friday afternoon, I was waiting for a connecting flight from JFK back to my home in Boston. It seemed as though I was going to be there for a while, as my original layover from my originating flight out of Madrid was already five and half hours. We managed to land 30 minutes early – usually a very cool thing – where I discovered my connection had been delayed 90 minutes. It wasn’t long before I was notified of another 70 minute delay. With now over 8 hours to kill, cancellation of that original flight seemed fairly likely as it was now set to depart at 11:40 in the evening. Fortunately, there was an earlier flight I was able to get on and arrive home at more reasonable hour. However, boarding of that flight was also delayed for half hour and due to traffic, and for icing on the cake, we spent another 40 minute taxiing.

Plans interrupted will be the theme of this race report. I will certainly spend a considerable amount of space on the race itself but a secondary though equally important focus will be much broader.

I spent two weeks traipsing about the Spanish countryside, and it was beautiful. I ate excellently; I had tapas in Madrid, squid in Bilbao, a full English breakfast in a tortilla at an Irish pub in Barcelona, and ham everywhere. I ate so much ham, it was delicious. There were many sights I had wished to see though only a few were fulfilled. The point of the trip however, was to participate in the Salomon Ultra Pirineu 100k.

As with my vacation itinerary, much was left undone on the day of the race.

Here comes the pivot…

Depression and anxiety can be monumentally influential in how well you perform in any aspect of your life including sports. Runners, I’ve noticed, are often pretty open about their mental health, specifically in how it relates to their running. The cliche is to refer to running as therapy, which is frankly dismissive to the profession and displays an interesting level of self awareness. If you feel like you need something to be therapy, perhaps try therapy (checking my privilege in …3…2…1). I used to feel inferior or incompetent when I would hear people talk about how they use running for healing as I’ve never really found that sensation in the activity.

It’s true that I can often find myself lost in thought while on the trail but I don’t know that I’ve ever felt meditative. Typically, during a run and especially during an ultra my singular focus is the run. Maybe that is the meditation. However, I don’t “work things out” in my head or unlock personal realizations. Insightful epiphanies are not a trophy for me to grasp at while in the wilds for a great long time. I still sometimes feel a sadness in this as though I was missing out on countless illuminating discoveries of the self. Of course, I know now that, as is my want, I was simply being too hard on myself. In this case, expecting more from the run and of myself than is fundamental to the activity.

While going for a run can make me feel a bit better physically or emotionally, it is hardly a reliable source of sustained relief. For as many times as I experience the fabled runner’s high, I can feel pretty crummy too. I attribute it largely to having diabetes as I tend to do for most negative feelings or reactions. As I’ve shared numerous times before there is always a sizable excursion into hyperglycemia during a run. The level of control, of my blood sugar that I have easily equates to level of control I have over my mood or to put it another way, I can’t claim as much control over my mental health when I don’t have control over my physical health. This personal truth feels at odds with the basic tenet of cognitive behavior therapy which is not much more complicated than the classic axiom, “Fake it till you make it.”

As a result, my vaguely esoteric view of running takes on a less than spiritual but more literal definition. There is inherently a conflict here that I am more than amused by. I’m not fast, I’ve never been fast. I could not claim any sort of athletic prowess until my late 20s, after a decade of sloth and smoking, but I have found a niche in withstanding. More popularly referred to as endurance. To know me before I found running, one would search for words as antonymous from “perseverance” as possible to describe my ethos.

I would therefore be remiss to discount the impact that running has on me psychologically, but I just can’t quite call it healing.

The point I’m trying to get to is that when I’m feeling low, I am rarely able to find remedy in the run. In fact, what is more likely to occur is the depression further dampens any motivation I might have had to go out and do the thing at all. A vicious cycle therefore emerges. One that, much like the diabetes, requires constant maintenance.

Meanwhile, back in Spain…

Ultra Pirineu is only my second European ultra running experience, but it felt very familiar even despite the language barrier. The event organizers and volunteers took great care of the runners, offering extensive amenities and services at the Start/Finish line. In fact, the race weekend largely envelopes the small town of Baga, which is not a resort town or tourist trap at all. It gave an intimacy to an event of hundreds over multiple days. I hope the residents of the town enjoy our being there, they seemed to be into it from what I can tell.

Beyond Baga, the on course race support was exquisite. Aid stations were well spaced and well stocked (even more ham!). Volunteers at the aid stations and course marshalling positions were very helpful and accommodating of my limited knowledge of the language. And, their energy as well as lots of spectators added a lot to the ambiance of an already gorgeous course.

My primary concern of big ultras is always the cutoffs, and this race was no different. The first two cutoffs were particularly scary for me.

Even with a course adjustment that gave me an extra half hour, the numbers on these first two cutoffs forced me to push hard early.

2:30 to cover the first ~6 miles and 3,500 feet is tough but doable, unless of course it is immediately followed by another ~4 miles and 3,000 feet in 2 hours.

At even the most fit I’ve ever been, covering ~10 miles with 6,600 feet of vert and less than a 1000 feet of drop in 4:30 is a tough ask. But I did it, I hit that first aid station in about 2:20 and was still feeling pretty good but it was also too early for that effort to be impactful. With a heightened sense of urgency, I set about conquering the harder cutoff. It took me about an 1:55 to travel the next 4 miles, bringing me into that second cutoff with only around 15 minutes to spare. This was too close, too early and I knew I was in trouble.

The next aid station, ultimately my last, was not even one that I was worried about as dawn was breaking.

The next ~9.5 miles were largely down hill, around 4,800 feet, with some rolls and a cumulative 8 hour cutoff. In the planning phases of getting ready for this race, I was anticipating riding this cutoff somewhat, but I underestimated how much time I would have from the previous aid station. I was planning on having closer to 4 hours , instead I had about 3:15. The effect of the initial hard push just to make those first cutoffs was manifesting dramatically on this long descent. The terrain was mostly quite runnable but I was already pretty gassed, so when I encountered a brief section of knee deep mud it was kind of all over.

The first time I fell on my butt and my arm was plunged elbow deep into the mud, my energy shifted from focused and cautiously optimistic to giggly but mildly irked. The second time, however, where I nearly lost a shoe pulling my leg out I immediately stopped feeling slap happy and annoyed and instead fell into despondency. I just knew it was over.

I trotted into the Serrat aid station after 8:15, 15 minutes past the cutoff and shared a ride back to Baga with a Frenchman, an Italian, and a Spaniard – a real romance trifecta.

The deeper bummer of not finishing this race was that my hydration and nutrition really felt on point. My blood sugar was largely stable – or rather, stable for racing. There was a large spike – mid 200s – in the early miles that came back down to in range but elevated for the reminder of my time on course. There is just something about the threshold of ~20 miles with ~8000 feet within 8 hours that I can’t seem to crack. It’s happened twice at The Rut and now here at Ultra Pirineu.

So, what it really comes down to, despite all my wishes to point blame elsewhere, is my training.

Tying it all together…

Which brings us back to the second theme of this report. 2025 was a year of poor performances, and yes there were injuries and there were illness that forced me onto the sidelines. It would although, be a gross denial, if I did not acknowledge that I just didn’t do the work.

I’m not a glutton for punishment, I don’t love the feeling of failure. That’s not why I pick these incredible races that I have to buy plane tickets and hotel rooms for. A very real part of the decision making is an attempt at leveraging the motivating power of commitment. I always trick myself into the fallacy of expending significant resources leads to greater chances of success due to the extra guilt and shame looming over failure. It rarely has the intended result.

It doesn’t take an expert to see from my training calendar how woefully unprepared I was for a 100k with 21,000 feet of vert.

Sometimes, depression just wins and I just have to try harder.

I know that’s not what this song is about but it always comes to mind.