When Winter Questions Everything
I thought about calling it—hanging up the ultrarunning shoes. Too tired. Too sore. Slower. Unmotivated.
Winter has a way of making you question things.
But then the cold breaks.
The evening sun stretches just a little longer, and I head out, slow and unsure.
As the sun sets and the wind turns calm, the clouds ignite that familiar pull, drawing me back into the journey like a pilgrim on the path of life.
Not to race. Not to win. But to return.
To the path. To the prayer. To the presence.
Nothing on this earth is mine—I’m just passing through. Even this body is on loan for a little while.
And in the depths of an ultramarathon, when it hurts the most, I remember the cross and that I’m not alone.
He’s with me—step for step, weight for weight. And just like that…
it feels lighter again.
Remember… you will have bad days and good days, slow runs and fast runs, tough races and easy races, but you will only have one journey.
Transformation In Life
This passage reflects where I’m at now, but it hasn’t always been this way.
I’ve gone through many changes in life. You can see it in my writing—from the eager, ambitious author of The Ultramarathon Guide to the weathered writer years later, with many, many ultra distances behind him.
A man who’s run through pain but, more importantly, learned what to do with it—and how to keep moving forward, well, most of the time, anyway.
Throughout my books, I’ve shared many stories about my experiences on the run.
Sure, I talk about the wild stuff—being chased by wild animals, the injuries, the unbelievable finish lines, the intense training routines.
But most of it?
Most of it is nothing. Just one foot in front of the other. Hour after hour. Mile after mile.
The Silence Between the Steps
So how do you write about that? How do you capture the story inside all that silence?
I once read and interesting quote from Mozart:
“The music is not in the notes, but in the silence between them.”
That really stuck with me. It’s in those quiet, uneventful miles that something bigger happens. But what?
You see, that next big race often hides behind the next big excuse.
Maybe it’s buried in a bottle, or a pill, a distraction, a limiting belief.
Not because we’re weak, but because we’re human.
No one walks an easy path—not really. Some carry heavier loads than others, yes.
But somewhere along the way, we were taught that joy comes through ease, comfort, and control.
Yet in my experience, it’s the struggle that opens the heart. Joy doesn’t avoid pain—it passes through it.
Like a mother cradling her newborn, still shaking from labor. Like the quiet peace after wrestling with yourself in the dark. Like Christ, who didn’t escape suffering, but transformed it.
Pain isn’t the end of the story. It’s often where the real story begins. Never forget these words.
Chasing Transformation
And there it was, the answer I was searching for.
That word—transform—really resonated. I once wrote that just as light and darkness transform the day, start and finish lines tend to transform our lives.
Maybe we chase transformation because, deep down, we know we’re not meant to stay the same.
Life shapes us, breaks us, and eventually rebuilds us. We fall. We rise. We fall again.
And through it all, something in us keeps reaching—not for perfection, but for meaning.
That’s what I think Mozart was getting at. The magic isn’t in the notes—it’s in the space between them.
Just like in running: The time between the start and the finish. The thought between each step. The breath held just before everything shifts.
Running cracks that space wide open. It tears away the noise, humbles the ego, and invites you into the unknown. It’s not just motion—it’s revelation. Each mile becomes a mirror. Each step, a surrender.
Because transformation isn’t something we force—it’s something that finds us. When we’re raw. When we’re honest. When we’re ready to receive.
And that’s the secret: Don’t run for the accomplishment. Run to be transformed. Do that, and you’ll find meaning in every mile—even the ones that hurt the most.
Identifying Transformation
But how can we tell if we’re truly being transformed, and not just experiencing change? Let’s take a deeper look.
Shifting from running for achievement to running for transformation requires a step.
Your first step.
And that step starts exactly where you are—right now—with intention.
Along the way, it helps to recognize when you’re actually experiencing a transformation versus simply going through a change.
Because let’s face it: life is full of changes.
The day changes. Our weight changes. Our jobs, relationships, the seasons—they all shift over time.
But transformation?
That’s something else.
It’s not just a new view—it’s the quiet emergence of something deeper within.
Something ancient, essential, and newly awakened.
Sometimes you may be preparing for a transformation and not even realize it.
You’re lingering at the edge of something new, hovering at the threshold of a beginning that hasn’t quite revealed itself.
And whether you like it or not, life has a way of nudging—sometimes pushing—you forward.
It’s like a hermit crab outgrowing its shell.
Eventually, you have to move.
Better to step into the new space intentionally than be caught exposed, scrambling for just any shell that’ll do.
The wrong fit can leave you vulnerable—or cracked.
Wherever you are right now, it’s important to know what stage you’re in.
Change of Condition
The first type of change is conditional—change that’s driven by external circumstances. It’s easy to confuse it with transformation because the emotional highs and lows can feel just as intense.
Imagine you’re deep into a race. The heat is punishing. There’s no shade for miles. You lost your fluids five miles back when your handheld burst after a fall.
Salt stains your clothes, your mouth tastes metallic, your fingers are swelling, and you feel like you’re about to pass out. Everything in you is screaming to stop.
Then suddenly, the trail turns. A short, steep climb—and there it is: the aid station.
Without hesitation, you throw salt tabs into your mouth, douse your head under the fluid cooler, and collapse into the shade with a hat full of ice and a frozen bandana around your neck. You devour nearly an entire watermelon.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass—and just like that, you feel reborn. Like you died on the trail and came back to life.
It feels like transformation. But really, it was just a change in condition.
Once your thirst is quenched, your energy replenished, and your body cooled, the distress vanishes—and so does the behavior.
The change wasn’t rooted in something deeper. It was simply a reaction to a need.
We often see this off the trail, too—when someone becomes more confident after receiving a compliment, quits drinking after a health scare, or turns to spirituality after a breakup.
But these changes are often temporary. They arise from fear, pain, or low self-worth—and fade once the external pressure lifts.
Many behaviors look like growth, but they’re really just responses to circumstance. They don’t last because they’re not anchored in identity, internal conviction, or spiritual renewal.
They are change—but they are not transformation.
Because true transformation doesn’t come from relief. It comes from something deeper. Something that starts within and stays, even when race-day conditions shift again.
Circumstantial Change
The next type of change is circumstantial. This kind of change often feels like transformation—especially when something big shifts in your life.
Maybe you come into money, get a promotion, or move to a new neighborhood. On the surface, everything looks different. But underneath, you might not have changed at all.
This is why people so often return to old habits in new environments.
Think about the honeymoon stage of a new job or the fresh excitement of a season change. For a while, it feels like something is different inside—but given time, the same patterns usually resurface, just in a different setting.
If you used to blow your money on clothes when funds were tight, you might now blow it on more expensive clothes when your income increases. If you procrastinated as an advisor, you now procrastinate as a manager. The doorknob you never fixed in your old house? Still broken in your new one.
Now apply this to running.
Let’s say you move to a scenic mountain town known for elite trail running. You’re surrounded by stunning landscapes, epic trails, and a thriving community of talented runners. You think, this is it—I’m finally going to level up and become an elite runner.
But the alarm goes off, and you still hit snooze.
You’re still skipping training runs.
You still lack discipline.
And now, with bigger goals and a more competitive environment, your self-doubt only deepens.
Despite the new surroundings, nothing fundamental has shifted. Circumstance has changed—but you haven’t.
True transformation doesn’t come from changing the view. It comes from changing the vision that drives you—within.
Change of Being
Lastly, there’s a change in being. This is the true transformation. It’s what we run for, what we live for, what we hope for.
Think of A Christmas Carol. Remember Ebenezer Scrooge? He wasn’t just cranky—he was cold, bitter, and cruel.
But then, on one unforgettable Christmas Eve, he was visited by the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. That journey didn’t just shift his mood—it rewired his heart.
By morning, he was a new man, bursting into the streets with joy, generosity, and love. That’s the kind of change I’m talking about—not a shift in behavior or a change in environment, but a transformation of essence. A shift in identity. A deep, internal awakening.
As someone who’s run over 150 ultra distance over the past decade or so, I’ve been forced to meet just about every version of myself. Long distances have a way of uncovering your shadows.
In the beginning, I ran for the medals, the finishing times, and the validation. I thought, maybe if I run far enough, fast enough, I’ll finally feel like I’m enough.
But that kind of motivation is a mirage. It’s fleeting, and it leaves you feeling hollow inside.
Eventually, something shifts.
The same internal demons keep surfacing, and because the distances demand so much, you begin to build the courage to face them—not with bravado, but with honesty. Quietly. Consistently.
When you’re running 100 miles through the night, alone and uncertain, with no option but forward, you start to see your life for what it really is.
You meet your past—the pain you were trying to outrun.
You meet your present—the person you’ve become.
And you catch a glimpse of the future—the life that awaits if you refuse to change.
That vision can be sobering. It certainly was for me.
People sometimes ask if running distances like that is healthy. And my honest answer? Not in the short term.
But over the years, the mental strength, spiritual awareness, and personal growth I’ve gained have changed every area of my life.
The unhealthy patterns I’ve broken, the discipline I’ve developed, and the faith I’ve found far outweigh the temporary pain inflicted on my body.
Somewhere deep in the suffering, something sacred breaks open. The ego begins to crack. The masks fall away. And by the time you cross that finish line, you’re not just someone who ran a race—you’re someone transformed.
As St. Francis said, “The crack is where the light gets in.” That’s exactly what it feels like.
Becoming Who You Already Are
Today, I no longer run from anything external. I run for the joy of the journey. I run with peace in my heart. I run to connect with something deeper than myself.
It’s become a time of communion—a chance to talk to God and, more importantly, to listen.
This kind of change goes far beyond pace or medals. It rewires your mind and gives room for your soul.
You don’t just become a runner with new goals—you discover your true self, again, for the very first time.
As I’ve written before: Running a half marathon will strengthen the body. Running a marathon will expand the mind. But running an ultramarathon will cleanse the soul.
So to conclude, one time I was asked:
“What do you find at the end of a 100-mile ultra?”
And I said to them:
“The version of me I spent my whole life running from…
until I finally had the courage to face him.”
Thank you for reading, and as always, keep moving forward and enjoy the journey along the way!
If this resonates with you—if you’ve ever wondered what’s possible when you push past pain, embrace struggle, and run with nothing left to give—then Inside the Mind of an Ultramarathon Runner is for you.
This book isn’t just about running; it’s about endurance in all its forms—physical, mental, and spiritual. It’s about transforming suffering into strength and finding freedom in the miles.
Grab your copy today and take the first step toward discovering what lies beyond your limits.
