As I grow older, I’ve come to see how essential self-discipline is to the unfolding of a successful life. When I speak of success, I don’t mean conforming to cultural expectations or chasing superficial achievements.
True success lies in moving toward the deeper goals nestled in your heart—and perhaps even more, in summoning the courage to take that first step into the sacred journey of self-discovery. In fact, a meaningful life is a more fitting description than a successful one.
Discipline as Freedom
Self-discipline can feel restrictive when viewed through a narrow lens. It often brings to mind thoughts of sacrifice—of all the things you must avoid or let go of to bring a dream into being.
For example, changing your diet can feel like an inner battle, especially when a familiar food has been part of your daily rhythm for years. Yet, when seen more fully, self-discipline is not about restriction but about freedom. It allows you to focus on what truly matters.
In the context of running, this freedom comes from shifting your focus to the greater goal— a transcendent experience from crossing the finish line.
From this perspective, discipline reveals itself as expansive and liberating. It’s less about deprivation and more about releasing what no longer serves your deeper purpose.
New Beginnings
By focusing on what truly aligns with your growth, you create space for greater efficiency and clarity, opening yourself to a horizon of new opportunities and transformation.
When I first began running, I can still recall the moment I decided to venture into long distances. I had recently graduated college, was engaged to my soon-to-be wife, and, looking back, I see I was standing at the edge of a new beginning.
The sense of meaning and purpose that once drove me to the gym was fading, and I found myself searching for something different—an unknown path, a new mountain to climb.
At that time, I had never heard of ultrarunning. To me, the marathon was the pinnacle, so I found a beginner’s marathon program and gave it a try.
If you had told me then that I would one day race a distance eight times that of a marathon, I would have dismissed it as an absurdity—unaware of the greater calling stirring within me, waiting to be awakened.
Growth Through Sacrifice
Many factors have helped me stay on this long road to what I’ve come to understand as success. Yet none of it would have been possible without discipline.
It meant choosing the quiet of early morning training runs over the temptation of late nights, replacing processed foods with whole, nourishing ones, and reading books on personal growth and spirituality rather than immersing myself in news and gossip.
Most importantly, it meant learning to run with greater humility, choosing the pain of growth over the comfort of ease. These are just a few of the many sacrifices that 12 years of ultrarunning—and counting—have called for, each one a step toward something deeper.
Although the training likely felt restrictive and stressful at first, over time it became woven into the fabric of my life. As I worked through the beginner challenges—like finding the right shoes, managing chafing, and understanding pacing—I began running farther than I had ever imagined possible.
Reaching that level of endurance, free from physical limitations, became a profound form of liberation. And in that moment, I saw clearly that it was self-discipline that led me to freedom.
Self-discipline, paradoxically, was the very thing that set me free, and I am grateful for the journey of hard work that guided me there.
The Essence of Discipline
To understand discipline more meaningfully, we can begin by tracing its origins. The word discipline comes from the Latin disciplina, which speaks of instruction and training, rooted in discere, meaning “to learn.”
In its truest sense, discipline is not about enforcing rules or avoiding punishment. It is, instead, an invitation to self-mastery—an intentional act of aligning our lives with progress and self-realization.
Discipline is not about external control; it is an inward trek, guiding us toward the fuller realization of who we are meant to be.
Faith and Transformation
As a young adult, I immersed myself in books on personal development, gradually coming to the understanding that the life we live outwardly is a reflection of our inner thoughts. I explored many tools—visualization, affirmations, manifesting—you name it, I was reading about and practicing it all.
Yet, none of these approaches seemed sustainable for a lifetime. They often felt like temporary fixes, not lasting solutions.
Over time, I began to notice recurring themes in every book I read, which led me to seek something deeper. I turned to spiritual texts, exploring concepts like vibrations, the present moment, and intention. I took up regular meditation and introduced yoga into my weekly routine.
These practices offered fresh perspectives on life and our place in the universe, and they served me well for a time. But eventually, as with the others, they too began to feel repetitive, as though they were merely passing moments on a more profound quest.
After years of reading and experimenting, everything began to feel abstract and disconnected, as if I were circling truths but never touching them.
Then it struck me: I had read hundreds of books, but I had never read the book—I had never read the Bible. When I finally opened it, I didn’t just read it; I entered into it. It wasn’t like anything else I had encountered.
It didn’t make me feel good all the time—in fact, it often confronted me with uncomfortable truths. But it brought meaning to my life, because it brought meaning to the pain and sufferings that we experience. That meaning revealed a hidden purpose, a thread weaving through everything I thought was broken or meaningless.
It taught me how to hold together the tension of the physical and the spiritual. This wasn’t an easy integration; it was a kind of discipline, a purification by fire.
Just as gold is refined in heat that burns away its impurities, engaging with scripture burned away my illusions and left me face-to-face with something more whole, more true—a transformed way of being.
Grounded by Faith
Whatever your beliefs may be, anchoring into something bigger is essential—not just in life, but in running as well. From my experience, grounding yourself in faith allows you to go deeper inwardly to run longer outwardly, without losing sight of why you’re putting in the miles.
This connection enables you to run farther than you ever imagined possible, at least it has for me.
The suffering strips away the superficial, thinning the veil between the physical and the spiritual. After running all day and night, fasting, and being utterly broken, your faith transfigures. It’s no longer just a belief—it becomes a knowing. In those moments, you move through the infinite strength of your soul.
Training for 100 Miles
In preparation for my first 100-mile race, my father-in-law and I shaped a training schedule inspired by principles I explored in A Runner’s Secret. At its core were two guiding concepts: to achieve the greatest maximum results in the shortest period of time and understanding that endurance is maintained for 7–10 days before beginning to decline.
Week by week, the plan evolved, becoming a practice of patience and trust, asking only one run per week. Each long run built upon the last, moving through 34, 37, 41, 45, 49, 54, 60, 67, and finally returning to 34 miles.
By the time race day arrived, the rhythm of preparation felt less like a task and more like a journey of surrender, growth, and discovery.
The point is this: training for nine consecutive weekends of ultra-distance runs required immense discipline. For me, this discipline stemmed from a combination of three key practices: obsessive daily routines, rigorous spiritual practices, and intentional self-denial.
Routines of Discipline
My daily routine was highly regimented. Each morning, the first thing I did was rehydrate with a glass of water—without fail.
I practiced intermittent fasting, often denying myself a meal until dinner. On some Mondays, I wouldn’t eat at all, and at times, I went as long as three days consuming only water. This habit of eating just one meal a day has stayed with me ever since.
After rehydrating, I turned inward, beginning my day with breathing exercises and meditation, grounding myself in positive affirmations. I would write down what I was grateful for, a daily act of realigning my perspective with abundance rather than lack.
I visualized crossing the race’s finish line, holding that image close when doubt inevitably surfaced. When negativity arose, I replaced it with hope, choosing faith over fear.
Next, I would roll my feet on a roller board and use a foam roller to target my IT bands. My physical routine also included daily weightlifting, except on running days, and over time, I incorporated yoga into my schedule.
These practices collectively built the mental, spiritual, and physical foundation I needed to endure the demands of training.
I don’t share this as some magic formula for running long distances, because there isn’t one. What I’ve come to see, though, is that ultrarunning is ultimately about energy—how we cultivate it, sustain it, and let it change us for the better.
When we commit to routines that align with what works for us, each day builds on the last. Over time, these practices shift from being depleting to life-giving, carrying us forward with an energy that feels less like effort and more like flow.
Resilience Meets Discipline
Those early morning training runs, stepping out the door at 1:00 a.m. and running through the silence of a sleeping world—those moments asked for discipline.
Changing the way I ate to focus on whole foods and become fat-adapted required a willingness to surrender old habits.
Sticking to my fueling strategy for 200 miles, even as my body and mind cried out for the junk food at aid stations, demanded an unbreakable kind of discipline—the kind that says “yes” to what’s best, not what’s easiest.
This is the heart of it: the meeting of resilience and discipline. That’s the edge. That’s what elevates your training to the next level.
Resilience teaches us to trust the process and to adapt with grace when plans unravel. Discipline grounds us in what truly matters, providing a steady anchor amidst the chaos.
Together, they create an energy that moves us beyond mere endurance, drawing us into a journey of transformation. The goal shifts from simply finishing the race to becoming more fully alive—a state of being where running some of the longest races in the world becomes just another step in the process.
Because in the end, it’s not just about the miles you run—it’s about who you become along the way.
Thanks for reading! And if you’re ready to explore the deeper connection between your physical and mental powers, don’t miss my new book, Inside the Mind of an Ultramarathon Runner: Linking Your Physical and Mental Powers for the Run of Your Life.
