I’ve decided that crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy. They believe that their behavior is perfectly normal. If a crazy person walks in circles talking to nobody in particular and all of his friends do the same thing, he could only conclude that his behavior is perfectly acceptable. To some extent, certain behaviors can be socialized across a group, introducing ideas that were previously considered ridiculous or unattainable. The same thing occurs with endurance athletes and adventure junkies. Somebody says ” I’m thinking of climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro” and before you can engage the part of the brain that controls rational thought, your mouth forms the words “me too”.
Your friends do events with titles like Death Ride and you start to wonder… maybe. This should not be considered normal behavior in any population, yet we accept it, embrace it, and even turn it into a badge of honor. The insane in a constant struggle to out-crazy themselves. 
The latest example of this came after volunteering at the Western States Endurance Run, a 100 mile trail run in the California Sierra Nevada mountains. This is a race, where runners have 30 hours to run the course, which includes 18,000 feet of ascent and 22,000 feet of descent. The runners use pacers who accompany them for 20-30 miles at a time to provide safety and motivation. The course is pitch black at night, lit only by each runner’s headlamp. The trails are very narrow and the runners’ instructions warns of trail hazards including bears, mountain lions, and rattlesnakes. Runners are told to watch where they place their feet and hands. If you complete the race within the time limit, you get a big belt buckle. Silver for finishing under 24 hours, bronze for sub-30 hours. Unless you’re very fast, you will be running for two sunrises. Before the big day, night, and another day of running, you train for months, running 50 mile qualifying trail runs. You enter a lottery and hope that 1 in 10 odds work in your favor. If you hit the race entry lottery, you pay a large registration fee. Then you train more. You convince friends to pace you for a marathon distance in the dark woods with bears, cougars, and rattlesnakes. Once you’ve found enough stupid loyal friends to serve as pacers, you train more. You pay a bazillion dollars to a chiropractor and a massage therapist to keep you injury-free. All for a belt buckle with huge bragging rights.
Our primary reasons for volunteering were to give back to our running community and to check out the race. We’d heard about it for so long and I had even met someone who’d completed it a few years ago. We were intrigued by it. Upon arriving in late afternoon, we pitched in to help with assembling the aid station, located at the Auburn Hills Trail area, 85 miles from the start line.
All runners began at 5:00am and the first male runner arrived at our station at 6:07pm. He had been on the trail for just over 13 hours and looked better than I do after a five mile run. I should also mention that his name is Kilian Jornet and that he broke the record for running up and down Mt. Kilimanjaro (19,540′) in Africa last year. He did it in 7 hours and 14 minutes. It will take us eight days. Check out Kilian Jornet’s Kilimanjaro Run on YouTube. Those who knew the story of Kilian Jornet were a little star-struck when the Spaniard came running into our aid station. He was completely relaxed and very engaging with all of the volunteers. At that point, he held a four minute lead over the second place runner, the exact gap between them at the finish line 15 miles later.
The majority of runners arrived in the middle of the night after they’d already been running for 20+ hours. We witnessed runners in various states of physical distress but we were prepared for all of them, even though it meant staying up all night.
A normal person would have taken all of this in and wondered why in the world anybody would ever voluntarily put their body through such an ordeal. I can tell you why. Crazy people hang out with crazy people and none of them know that they’re crazy. They all think that paying a race organizer for the privilege of inflicting pain on your body is a perfectly normal thing to do. Proof? The conversation on the drive home went like this. “I would love to do that”. “Me too”. This is how the crazy talk starts.
I walked the dog this morning, something that I get to do every once in a while. He normally walks with his Mom but today he got me as the “you’re not HER but you’ll do all right” substitute. Yes, he’s a DOG but he can make it rain guilt and shame with a look. The dog is over 108 years old in human years, can barely put any weight on his front legs, his back legs sway like a drunk wandering down Main Street, and his breathing is so labored from the exhausting task of waking up that you’d think he’d snuck out, run five miles, and returned home just before your alarm clock went off. Yet, none of this keeps him from his duty of following you around in the morning until you relent and break out the leash. Just the sight of it sends him into a child-like frenzy of skipping and hopping on 108-year-old legs that don’t understand why the brain is acting like a seven-year-old.
Brother-in-law Bob came to town for a day of hiking, eating pizza, and drinking beer. We took him out to Lake Chabot, where we hiked six or so miles. After stopping in one of the campgrounds to eat some Togos sandwiches, we did a little bit of butt model auditioning.
This ride is one of our must-do events every year. I love it because of the beautiful back roads through vineyards and stands of redwoods, but most of all, something memorable ALWAYS seems to happen. This year’s Wine Country will be remembered for Linda S. getting lost before the lunch stop, Dave searching the lunch stop outhouse for his wedding band, and Lora M. nearly biting Bev when taking a fig bar with her teeth, Most of all, though, I’ll remember it for what I learned.
Friends come in all shapes, sizes, and types. This one is big enough to lift you with her big heart or kick your ass. I feel better knowing that she’s got both of our backs. And here’s a tip: don’t play paintball with a highly competitive trained shooter. Happy Birthday Tasha!