The Hangover

Weirdness in the aftermath of Western States

Winning Western States has got to be one of the highest highs out there in the ultrarunning world. It’s something I didn’t really dare dream would happen. A week later, it still feels surreal. For the last 20 miles of the race, I tried to dissociate a bit and block out the pain, and in the 48 hours immediately following my finish I was physically and mentally destroyed enough that the numbness remained.

Three days after the race, when I was finally settled in back at home, I was seven pounds over my normal weight, swollen with retained fluids. My resting heart rate each night had ranged from 20 to 30 bpm above average. My body didn’t understand what had just happened, and it went into overdrive trying to repair itself. The only issue that lingers to today is my right ankle. It looks and feels sprained, swollen and bruised. I don’t remember rolling it or having pain there during the race, but I was so tunneled that maybe I just didn’t even notice. But it’s slowly improving.

With the pain mostly gone and the brain fog mostly cleared, I’m left in a weird hangover state. The dopamine levels that a win brings, along with the attention you get in the days after, are unsustainable. On Sunday, I received a bronze cougar trophy, picked up nearly 20,000 new Instagram followers, and interviewed with Singletrack podcast. On Monday, we made the long drive home. On Tuesday, I logged into my work laptop and hopped on Zoom for my daily meetings. I went grocery shopping and mowed the lawn. I took the full night shift with Marshall while Morgan finally got a good sleep. Normal life. It’s going to take a while for my brain chemistry to reset to the point that normal life doesn’t feel extremely boring relative to the high I just experienced.

Marshall continues getting cuter as he get better at smiling. More time to sit around and play with him has been nice.

That race felt like the biggest, most important thing in the world to me, besides Morgan and Marshall obviously :), but now the world is moving on. Public attention shifts to Hardrock, or whatever’s next. And that’s fine. It should. I’m not saying please give me more attention. I’m just saying there’s a disconnect between where my mind is still at and the rest of the world, and I’m starting to feel stuck. It’s only been a week. This is probably the sort of thing that just takes time. My ankle will heal, I’ll start running again, things will reset, and I’ll move on.

Along with the weirdness, there’s a deep sense of pride and accomplishment. The massive investment we put into preparing for Western States paid off in a huge way. I think of myself differently now, as an athlete. In the same way that last year’s fifth place was eye-opening and made me believe I could start trying to mix things up at the front of races, this year’s win makes me believe I could take shots at other big wins. Brands also heavily invest in me, and races like this one help me feel like I’m not wasting their time and money. In fact, it makes me realize just how much value and marketing I have the power to provide to sponsors. With that comes additional pressure, both internal and external.

The underdog mindset works for me. Let the focus be on other runners leading up to key races. I like the idea of working quietly in the shadows, popping out into the light just long enough to nail a race, while the big personalities and established figures take the spotlight, acting as a shield against overwhelming pressure for athletes like me. Maybe now those days are over, and maybe I need to figure out better ways to cope with pressure rather than trying to avoid it. Anyone have any ideas on that?

The cats were skeptical of having a cougar in the house, but they’re coming around.

I’ve gone on mountain bike rides the past two days, both around 45 minutes long. Tired legs pedaling slowly, dodging the occasional rocks and roots on the mostly smooth trails around my house. Hot sun, a light breeze, and ODESZA softly playing in my ears. Appreciating that, even after 100 miles and even with a bum ankle, trails are trails, and despite all that’s been going on I still like being on them in any form.