Love is a Superfuel

We’re all running ultramarathons. 

We’re all moving forward, a step at a time, toward some unnamed destination. All dependent on others, in some way,  to love and see us, to make this whole endeavor worthwhile, even though at times we really feel like we’re alone. 

And many times, we are. We’re slipping and sliding  through the day, alone in our minds, surrounded by our thoughts, and all we have to get us out of there is the reminder of something bigger than ourselves. 

Some thing called Love. 

The greatest ultrarunner of all time, Courtney Dewaulter, claims course records for feats of 100 miles and more. When she talks about these races, she speaks of her inner pain cave, how she takes her mental pick axe to it again and again, widening it, deepening it, with every herculean effort over mountain terrain to finish another ultramarathon on top of the field. She doesn’t have a coach. She doesn’t have a blueprint of what to eat and when to sleep and how to train meticulously perfect to suit her body. She has the pick axe in  her mind. 

And from what I can see –  she has a potent fuel called Love. 

As I watched a youtube video of her summer 2023 feat - running, completing, and acquiring the course record in Western States 100, the Hardrock 100, and UTMB- my eyes brimmed with tears and my chest heaved in adoration. In 15 minutes, this documentary showcased one major thing: who comes along with you and loves you is what can ultimately fuel you. Her parents, her closest family members, their spouses, her spouse. They showed up. They believed in her, with her. They showered her with positivity and calm. She soaked up their energy with every hug and forehead-to-forehead moment – and she sought them out immediately when crossing the finishline. 

This Love could not be store bought, coach delivered, or bio-hacked. 

It was a good, simple, I-believe-in-you kind of love. The chin-up-you-got-this love, the it’s-ok-that-that-was-hard affirming kind of love that pulled her close then patted her on her way out toward fulfilling her dreams. 

Then there is 2024 Leadville 100 course record breaker, David Roche. He flew through the harrowing 100 mile course in 15:26, breaking the over-a-decade record set by Matt Carpenter, with a time of 15:42. When David and his wife Megan recorded their thoughts about this race effort in their podcast, David was repetitive about one major theme getting him to the finish line and boosting his purpose: love. Race day happened to fall on their 10th anniversary. Megan was pregnant with their second child. And David had just experienced an awful car accident earlier that year. Amidst the science, the data, the technology – all positive aids to the performance – David ultimately expressed a heartfelt, teary acknowledgment that he did not want to do these efforts without Megan by his side. 

Fistbumps at aid stations. Kisses blown. I-love-you’s exchanged. Eyes locking in knowingness. Stride for stride in pacing down the home stretch. This record breaking performance at Leadville was fueled not just by the science-backed gels, caffeine, and liquid calories – it was fueled by love and support. Before David crossed the finishline, he turned to the crowd, threw his hands up in a heart sign, and then finished what he set out to do. 

We all have access to love, I think. It may be skewed or shaky or tangled from past experiences. I believe, from personal experience, that it’s possible to reclaim love from deep within ourselves and use that to chisel through our pain caves, move through our messy miles, and land at the finishline successfully – albeit, with a bit of chafing and deep fatigue and GI issues along for the ride. In running and life. 

When I first thought of this concept, that Love is a superfuel, I couldn't help but first be skeptical. Going over the course of my life, I’m met with the glaring, at-times harrowing, loneliness,  when I loped through the unknown; the moments I hung from the proverbial cliffside, the times I was a mere shadow of myself. All the times I longed from deep inside of myself, dark within my own pain cave, asking the world, “Don’t you SEE me?! Can’t you LOVE me?!” My own pick axe, abandoned. My resolve, fatigued. 

How could I put a chisel to my pain cave, deepen my ability to move through life toward the fulfillment of my dreams, if I felt as though I did not have access to Love?

How do I know Love? How do I know where to create it, how to hold it, when to inject it? Does it ACTUALLY matter?

And, who taught me about lovel, where did I seek this fuel from, how could this resource fuel me to be a successful athlete, coach, writer, and human?

When I coach others toward the lives they want to create for themselves, I learn, quickly and purposefully,  who is a support in their life who they can resource from. I listen for their version of longing, for their pain cave. I listen for what they believe they do or do not have access to. 

I listen for their Love input – is it a trickle, a small but mighty stream, a wild waterfall? 

I’ve become a waterfall to people I work with. I purposefully gush my belief toward them, into them. I offer encouragement and support, believing that their desired life can be attained. I show them what it feels like to experience a version of Love. Modeling this, I can begin to teach through experience what supportive Love can feel like. And then, if all goes well, my clients cultivate it in important, other places in their life. They can go on to fuel themselves toward success, toward their dreams. 

Especially through and toward the Great Unknown. 

The way to the Great Unknown is scary. It’s dark and it’s dripping with something strange and there’s moss on the stoniness of the wall and the sound of flapping wings. The Great Unknown lies beyond what we can see, touch, know. It takes a lot of bravery to head in that direction, especially alone. We need courage (from the latin word for heart, the organ of Love). Without access to Love, so many of us don’t ever take a step forward.  Instead, we stand outside the cave, in the Here and Now, and gripe about what Could Be in the seemingly inaccessible Great Unknown. 

But. 

If we access Love, if we can see for ourselves how bright and illuminating and hand-squeezing supportive it can be, we start stepping. We begin to move forward. We wobble, and fall, and reach our hands up to those nearest to us to keep us all in motion. Even if that person nearest happens to be ourself. We trust, we reach out, we love, we move forward. 

We make our way to the back of the cave and - Holy Shit! - there is an opening into the brightest, most profoundly beautiful expanse of greenery, flowers, and life that we have ever encountered. A place where we can flourish. 

Where we can rest before heading back into the cave to set out for the next Great Unknown. 

Love can feel complicated. We mistake so much for it. How we learned about Love in our upbringing informs what we seek out. Who were our caretakers, our communities, the groups of people who impacted us most? What little t and Big T trauma did we experience?

I’m not a trauma therapist but I’ve received much needed work with incredible healers. I’ve begun to see and feel, for the truest first time, what Love can feel like, where it can take me, and how it squeezes my hand every step of the way. 

And, I have begun to notice my complicated Love Lens. I peered in close and saw the streaks of smudge, the fog of condensation, and the scratches left behind by little t and Big T. I’ve begun to clear and clean and yes, even pick up a completely new pair of sparkling Love Lens so that I can actually see my worth, see the illuminated next few steps forward, as I make my way through this ultramarathon of life. 

It’s no accident that the world of ultrarunning is making way for women who inspire. Women who know love, who know healing, who connect with themselves and others in an authentic and vibrant way. 

It is in the footsteps of Love that I have fed my ultrarunning journey, widened and deepened my cave. It’s through self-loved and received love that I can be successful in all that I do. 

You can, too.