My latest adventure took me to Ireland. I cannot say, my last run, because it was truly an adventure. Although, it was titled the IAU Trail World Championships, it had very little, what most would consider a trail.

The course consisted of roads, some gravel paths leading to and from the mountains and lots of bogs. In case you don’t know what a bog is, it is, as we were told the day before, “soggy ground.”

In order that no one would sink, too far, while crossing, a designated bog route, marked with small flags, was where we were to run, or risk being lost. Staying near the flags was a necessity, as some would discover.

Most of the USA Trail Team felt that this was not a true trail run and some even said it was not running because so much of the course was impossible to run.

One individual compared it to the Tour de France, with the toughest section ahead being impossible to run. The riders would have to carry their bikes for several miles, thus taking away any advantage the fastest rider might have and destroying the integrity of the competition.

Clearly, not everyone felt the same, as many runners performed well and some actually thrived. Most of those runners also had opportunities to run on rugged terrain in their training and possibly some may have had mountain climbing skills, as well.

Personally, I enjoyed the adventure, but clearly I was not prepared to compete over terrain of this nature. I stayed steady, but it was a steady hike and not a steady run. My feelings swung like a pendulum to ‘what am I doing here’, to ‘this is lots of fun and unlike anything I have ever done’, to ‘I wish this was over, but I know I cannot make the cutoff time to finish.’

Runners who were coming my way on the return trip were saying how crazy this was. One lady coming down said she wasn’t going any further and was headed back down to the aid station to catch a ride back. I wondered what I would find on the other side after I reached the top. I found out all too soon—“soggy ground”.

When I posted on my facebook page that I EARNED my first DNF (Did Not Finish) in an ultra I received condolences and sympathy messages, but the 2 that stuck out were the ones that I remember.

The first was from longtime running friend, Marty Sprengelmeyer of Iowa, who said, “Don’t worry about DNFs. If you have never had one, you have never truly challenged yourself.”

The other from marathon runner Jenny Chaudoir, of Green Bay, WI, who stated, “DNF to me stands for “Did Not Fear”—you didn’t fear to give it a shot.”

I believe I have challenged myself plenty in over a quarter century of ultra running, but obviously, I never did any mountain climbing in the middle of any of them. I will continue to challenge myself, but limit it to running, in the future.

I also believe I have not feared anything I have taken on. At first there might be some apprehension, but once I am at the start that fades into the feeling of ‘Bring it on, I can do this!’ I really enjoy creating challenges and having some doubt whether I can accomplish what I set out to, without that, racing would be rather mundane.

There usually is disappointment when not finishing what one starts out to complete. In this case, when I heard there would not be time to continue, I was accepting and thought, ‘How nice, I don’t have to crawl and climb over that mountain again.’ Three trips across the mountains was enough for me in one day.

I did find out that my trusty Wigwam Compressor socks made a huge difference, especially during the mountain climbs. And through the bogs, they didn’t bog me down. The mud did not stick to them and they never felt soggy—like the ground.

Over the next few days I had time to relax and see the local attractions, one being the mountain I first ran up, with my girlfriend, Chris. Physically and emotionally the race did not defeat me. And afterwards I also heard stories of what some of the others encountered.

My teammate, David James, from Arizona, was following a British runner when suddenly the Brit sunk and immediately Dave after him, up to his chest. He reached the Brit’s waist and shoved him up and out and the Brit then gave him a hand and pulled him out.

Some runners were beat up, one for sure had a broken arm and another thought she might have. Most agreed, it was one of the craziest and toughest events they ever had.

As we flew home a few days later, I told Chris I was thinking of a quote by Theodore Roosevelt that would aptly describe our adventure into the unknown. He said, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.”

See you in a few miles….roy