High on Failure
/By Jordan Wirfs-Brock, produced by Out There Podcast
Released On November 10, 2022
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
(Bicycle bell rings twice)
VOICEOVER: Hub and Spoke, audio collective.
(Bicycle wheel spinning and bells ringing)
WILLOW BELDEN: To start out today, I want to give a big shout-out to PeakVisor. PeakVisor has sponsored this entire season of Out There. And beyond that, they’ve supported the podcast for years.
Having that kind of dedication from a sponsor is a big deal for a little show like us. It gives us a certain amount of stability, which means we can put our time and energy into things that matter — like creating thoughtful, introspective stories.
In case you’re not familiar with it, PeakVisor is an app that helps you make the most of your time in the mountains.
They have maps, information on trailheads, details on elevation gain, and much more.
If you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out Peak Visor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There Theme music plays - guitar plucking chords, wistful whistling)
Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
This is the last episode of our current season. I’ll talk about what’s next for Out There at the end of the episode. But for now, let’s dive right in.
Today’s story is an award-winning narrative. It won a gold medal for best independent podcast from the Public Media Journalists’ Association (formerly known as PRNDI). The story first aired in 2016. And just so you know, there is some adult language in this episode.
(Theme music fades out)
JORDAN WIRFS-BROCK: Ok, I want to know – what did you think when you first heard about what I was planning on doing? Be completely honest.
WILLOW: Well, on the one hand I was totally in awe. And actually kind of jealous of what you were doing, I kind of wanted to do it too. But on the other hand, I also thought you were insane. Like, completely and utterly insane.
JORDAN: Yeah, I get that a lot, and to be honest I actually agree with you, part of the time. I think I’m insane, a bit. So, fair enough.
(Music fades in, piano groove, drums)
WILLOW: This is Jordan Wirfs-Brock. She’s a journalist in Colorado, and when she’s not reporting, she’s also a runner. A really hardcore runner. Today, she’s going to share the story of a race she did last spring. It takes place in the mountains of Vermont, and it’s one of the most challenging trail running races that’s ever been put on: 888 kilometers. That’s 550 miles, if you’re rusty on the metric system.
JORDAN: The race is called Infinitus. But in my head I call it Infin-EYE-tus, like an inflammation in your infinity gland.
WILLOW: (laughing) OK, so, before we hear your story. A race this long is so far outside of the realm of comprehension for most of us. How does this even work? I mean, do you just start running, and then stop 550 miles later?
JORDAN: Pretty much yeah. It’s on a 26-mile course that’s shaped like a figure eight. So you run the loop over and over, and over. Basically, you’re doing a bunch of laps.
WILLOW: And, to put this in perspective, each lap is the length of a whole marathon.
JORDAN: Yeah, that's right.
WILLOW: So is there a time limit? I mean, I’ve never run 550 miles. How long does that take?
JORDAN: Once the race starts, you have 10 days to finish the full 888 km. You can take a break and sleep or eat whenever you need to, but the clock never stops.
WILLOW: Stop to sleep and eat — how does that work? Do you camp out?
JORDAN: Not exactly. There’s a ski lodge where people could go in and sleep. People als had RVs and trailers that they could sleep in. And you’re typically sleeping somewhere between four and six hours a night.
WILLOW: So how did you train for this? I mean, for shorter races, you can run the distance that the race is going to be, ahead of time. But for something like this, how do you prepare?
JORDAN: Yeah, so, I had a training plan I didn’t always follow, but basically it included a lot of long and lonely runs. Like, there was one time I got home from work on a Friday night, and I started running at 7 pm, and didn’t stop until 7 pm the next day. Here's a clip from my audio diary.
JORDAN (field recording): Ok, so I am about to start my 24-hour training run. Actually what I am doing at this very instant is putting something called, Anti Monkey Butt? Yeah, Anti Monkey Butt Powder, into my shoes, I’ve never used (coughs). Ugh, I just put it down on the ground and it splooshed up at me. I’ve never used powders like this.
JORDAN (interview recording): You have to experiment a lot, with everything: food, shoes, other products. It’s the only way to find out what works. Anyway, later that night…
JORDAN (field recording): (Wind howling, crackling microphone) The wind right now is absolutely ridiculous. It is just whipping past me, taking all my heat away, sucking a lot of energy. It’s not very fun. But, other than the wind, things are great!
JORDAN (interview recording): I sounded a lot worse by the end, but that was kind of the point, to get used to being miserable, and lonely. But really though, Infinitus is so different than anything I’ve ever done. It was a step into the unknown. Not just for me, but for all of the racers doing it. This was the first time this race had been held. And there had been things that were similar, but there was never anything quite like this. For example, there are six-day races, but you're running around a track, a quarter-mile or a one-mile loop, not out in the woods, out on trails. So really we were all kind of making it up as we went along.
WILLOW: So, one more question. And, this goes back to the part about you possibly being insane. Why? Why did you decide to do this race?
JORDAN: Yeah, I get that question a lot. And I’ll talk about it more in a minute, but I did this race because I was searching for my breaking point.
(Music plays, rhythmic strumming and melodic guitars)
WILLOW: So, spoiler alert, Jordan DID find her breaking point. She failed. Didn’t manage to finish the race. But unlike so many failures, which leave us feeling defeated, Jordan’s failure actually ended up being a good thing. In fact, she says it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to her.
I’ll let her take it from here.
(Music swells, then fades)
JORDAN: My journey to Infinitus began where most idiotic-slash-brilliant ideas do: over beers with friends. I had just returned from what seemed the pinnacle of insanity: a race called Fat Dog, 120 miles and 29,000 vertical feet of gain in the mountains of Canada. After running for 34 hours straight, I crossed the finish line with a big stupid grin on my face. I felt great. I felt like I was just getting started.
I’d done a few other 100-milers, but they were different. In those other races, the last few miles, it was like I was dragging my own carcass. I typically finished on the verge of tears. There’s a lot of crying in ultra-running.
But after Fat Dog, I felt like I was finally getting the hang of this ultra-long-distance thing. Like my body and brain were adapting to this crazy sport. And I was curious: how far could I go?
See, for me running has always been this way to turn the impossible into the possible. It’s thrilling to complete the longest run of your life. The first time I ran nine miles, I was still in high school. It was in the Columbia River Gorge, at sunset. And I felt like a superhero. I wanted that feeling again, so I chased it, through a half-marathon, a full marathon, 50 miles, 100. Each time, it’s terrifying. You don’t know whether you can do it. But when you do succeed, something that used to be scary, unattainable, downright bananas,becomes real. Even becomes normal.
So when my friend Greg suggested a 500-plus-mile mountain trail race, I knew I was in.
Besides, it’s easy to say yes to something that’s nearly nine months away.
(Music plays, joyful strings)
From the moment I decided to run Infinitus, I knew I wanted to document it. So in my head, I wrote and re-wrote the script of how it would end.
I pictured three scenarios. First, a triumphant victory. Not only would I finish the full 888k, but I would win. And I’d show the world that if the distance is long enough, the challenge tough enough, a woman can and will best the men.
Or, I would make a heartbreaking departure from the race via ambulance, rushed off to the ER for kidney failure or flesh-eating bacteria or some other life-threatening injury.
Or, and here’s what I thought was most likely, after all chances of completing the full 888k had slipped away, I’d slog on to the last second, fighting to the end even when all hope is lost.
(Music ends)
None of these things happened. The real end is weirder, and better. I failed. On day seven out of 10, mile 377 out of 551, I broke.
But let’s go back to the beginning.
The race was late May. When my mom and I drove up from Boston, Vermont’s rolling green hills seemed gentle, inviting. The trunk of our rental car was full of yogurt, baby wipes, chocolate, ibuprofen, six pairs of running shoes and too many socks to count.
I unpacked my stuff in a cross-country ski lodge that was our home base. And when I say “lodge,” it’s really more of a barn with a loft and old wooden skis and snowshoes hanging on the walls. And plumbing that only works for part of the year. It was there, the night before the race, that I first met race director Andy Weinberg.
ANDY WEINBERG: Yes, I think you’re crazy, I have to be honest with you. We were kind of kidding. We didn’t really think you would show up.
JORDAN: Andy is the grand architect of the pain and glory behind Infinitus. And it’s not just me he’s calling crazy, it’s all 10 of us who showed up to compete. Andy is known for putting on events that push people to their limits. And he designed this race to be next to impossible.
JORDAN (field recording): So, you want to break us?
ANDY: Not necessarily, I actually want you to succeed. I’m sure you’ll be broken a number of times throughout the event, but that’s part of the fun for us.
JORDAN (narration): He explained that our world was about to shrink down to a 26-mile stretch of trail that would be my home for the next 240 hours.
ANDY: We’re going to start at 8:08 in the morning, and you are going to run for 10 days. And Sunday morning, not this sunday but the following sunday, at 8:08 the race is over.
JORDAN: Andy had sent us all an email two days before the race saying that the course had changed. Rumor had it that a deranged moose with a brain parasite was terrorizing part of the original trail. So he described the new route, a smushed, lopsided figure eight, with the lodge at the center. We were going to run this course 20 and a half times.
ANDY: You’re gonna be on a dirt road, you’re gonna drop down to Silver Lake, also beautiful. You’ll take the Leicester Hollow trail, about four and a half miles, flat and runnable. Then you’ll climb Chandler ridge, and you'll come back around Silver Lake and do the three miles back…
JORDAN: We’d be running on snow-mobile trails, narrow foot paths, and some short stretches of dirt roads. He told us about a big black dog who lives on the course who might follow us. Andy assured us the dog was friendly.
And then we were off.
VOICE ON LOUDSPEAKER: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 (sound of bullhorn siren)
UNIDENTIFIED VOICES: Yay, alright! (Sound of people running through grass)
(Music plays, classical strings)
JORDAN: My plan was to go out easier than easy. Walk as much as I wanted, stay relaxed. And I did. We started out on the upper portion of the figure eight. This 10-mile loop had a steep climb up Mt. Romance, then a sweet downhill cruise back to the lodge.
When I came through basecamp, I felt great. I was in and out, onto the lower part of the figure eight. I kept feeling good, even as the trail got tougher.
This 16-mile section included a slog through a marsh with shoe-sucking mud, and a winding ridge-top trail that felt like going around and around in circles. I have to hand it to Vermont — I live in Colorado, where I’m used to running on rugged, high altitude trails in the Rocky Mountains. So I didn’t expect the trails to be that hard.
But they were gnarly: rocks, roots, mud, logs to climb over, ankle-deep fallen leaves on the ground so you can’t see your footing.
I got lost on my way back and ran a bonus mile or two, but even that didn’t dampen my mood. One marathon down, 19 and a half more to go.
(Music swells)
Every time I came past the ski lodge, I had this system where my crew would check in with me. My crew included my mom of course, and a bunch of friends who later came to help out. They asked me to rank how I was feeling, physically and emotionally, on a scale of one to ten.
(Music fades)
JORDAN’S MOM: I’m gonna do a quick survey here.
JORDAN (field recording): Pain is one, just my hip is a little tight.
JORDAN’S MOM: OK.
JORDAN: Mood is good.
JORDAN’S MOM: What’s that, eight or nine?
JORDAN (narration): They also wrote down how much I ate, drank, and peed.
JORDAN’S MOM: So are you going to take sandwiches? Or are you gonna take your…
JORDAN (field recording): (indiscernible)
JORDAN’S MOM: You need to get more calories, I think. So you don’t get tired.
JORDAN: I have plenty.
JORDAN (narration): Did you hear that? How I ignored my mom when she tried to get me to eat? Obviously a bad idea, but I was caught up in the rhythm of the race.
Things went like clockwork for the first day. My pace was great, I was clicking loops off.
We recorded our progress on this big cardboard sign in the ski lodge. It had the names of the 10 racers and row of boxes. Every time we got back from a loop, we’d take a black sharpie and draw a circle next to our name in a box. Two circles per box, one for the top of the figure eight, one for the bottom. Fill 20 and a half boxes, and we’d be done. Simple.
(Music plays, somber piano)
Around one am, after 17 hours and two and a half marathons, I stopped to sleep. My legs felt like lead. My body obviously needed a rest. And yet, I couldn’t really sleep. I’d doze for a few minutes then wake up sweating and feverish.
Reality set in after that first sleepless night. The next morning, back on the trail, my mom met me at the top of the swamp, which I’d come to call the Swamp of Misery. She brought me a pair of dry shoes and asked me how things were going.
JORDAN’S MOM: How ya doing Jordan?
JORDAN (field recording): Not good. Pretty much can only walk.
(sound of footsteps on gravel, heavy walking pace)
JORDAN’S MOM: You’re doing, uh, you look pretty strong coming up here. Walking is fine.
JORDAN: No, I have to maintain a certain pace or I’m not going to finish in time.
JORDAN (narration): My quads were totally useless, and I was pissed off. How, after all my training, was I bonking this early? I felt awful, but I didn’t want to get off schedule, so I just kept forcing myself to move. And for a while, it worked. I started to feel better.
(sound of footsteps on gravel, running pace. Water bottle sloshing)
JORDAN (field recording): Now that is a beautiful noise.
JORDAN (narration): The pack I carried has these water bottles. They slosh around and make a lot of noise, but only when I run, not when I walk. Usually I find it really annoying but, this time it was a welcome noise to hear.
(Sloshing and running continue)
JORDAN (field recording): And just a few hours ago, I thought I was not going to run again for the next eight days. My quads were totally dead, and I had to walk for the last 17 miles or so. But, whether it’s ibuprofen, the walk break, who knows, but here I am running again. And a real run, not just the ultra shuffle.
There’s a light drizzle right now. But it’s sunny on the mountains on the horizon. Gorgeous.
(Music fades in, upbeat classical)
JORDAN (narration): Things were going pretty well by day three. Even though I wasn’t eating enough, I was ahead of pace, had earned myself a bit of a buffer. Sure, things were hard, but at this point I was feeling optimistic, in control.
(Music fades out)
Unfortunately that nice confident feeling didn’t last long. My mom drove out to meet me at the top of the swamp, at five am, with a dry pair of dry shoes and socks, like she always did. But this time, she brought something else, too. News. Bad news.
JORDAN’S MOM: So, you now know there are 21 laps required, not 20 and a half.
JORDAN (field recording): What?!
JORDAN’S MOM: He didn’t tell you, but…
JORDAN: What the fuck.
JORDAN’S MOM: I need to tell you that.
JORDAN: No I did not know that.
JORDAN (narration): You heard that right. They added an extra 16 miles to the race. This seems like a minor thing in a race this long. And if my head had been in the right place, I would have seen that. But I was stressed about every little thing. So I freaked.
I was also really mad that Andy didn’t tell me himself, that I had to hear it second hand. But I had no choice. I just carried on.
JORDAN’S MOM: Do you want a sip of coffee? (Sound of metal mug clanging). You are doing great. Bye.
(Music plays, piano)
JORDAN: When people hear about Infinitus, they often remark how boring it must be to travel the same trail over and over, day after day. But it’s not boredom that’s tough, it’s loneliness. Later that night…
JORDAN (field recording): It’s not even that anything is like hurting, or I’m that tired. It’s just like…
JORDAN’S MOM: It’s your mental head, yeah, so…
JORDAN: (crying) I’m just not looking forward to being alone for the next four and a half hours. In the dark.
JORDAN (narration): I wasn’t joking about there being a lot of crying in this sport.
My friend Greg, the one who got me into this mess — his dad Doug, was helping out at the race. And Doug was at the top of the swamp as I passed by.
DOUG: If you go slow enough I’ll walk with you.
JORDAN (field recording): Seriously?
DOUG: But you gotta go slow enough.
JORDAN: How slow? I’m walking pretty slow.
DOUG: Okay, okay.
JORDAN (narration): Nicest guy ever, right? I perked up instantly. I felt this surge of energy.
DOUG: And are you a talker?
JORDAN (field recording): Normally.
DOUG: That’s good, because I’m more of a listener than a talker. (Laughter)
JORDAN (narration): And we set off together into the dark woods. Not being alone made me feel excited, suddenly capable again.
The next day, some friends arrived to join my crew. My friend Vicky even ran with me. And as we ran, we chatted about ex-boyfriends and plotted future running adventures. When I hit rough patches, Vicky blasted 90s music from her phone to distract me. We also discussed, at length, who would play us in the film adaptation of Infinitus.
(Music plays, playful brass)
I definitely call dibs on Jennifer Lawrence. My mom is definitely Sigourney Weaver. We couldn’t decide whether Andy, the race director, would be a sinister Brad Pitt or an Ed Harris-type.
(Music swells, then fades)
Joking aside, I had a problem. A big problem. I was basically starving. I had miscalculated how many calories were in my powdered drink mix. Once I was in the hole, calorie-wise, it just kept getting worse.
Remember how my mom kept trying to get me to eat, and all I did was ignore her and nibble? Oddly, that’s what happens when you’re accidentally starving yourself. Food becomes really, really unappetizing. Normally, I love to eat. But now, everything turned my stomach, and chewing was this huge chore.
I should have been eating eight to 10,000 calories a day, but was probably only getting 3,000. In other words, even though I was running more than 50 miles a day, I wasn’t eating much more than I would need on a sedentary day at work. As a result, my muscles felt lifeless, and empty. Even a slow pace made me run out of steam.
Yeah I know. Clueless. But that’s what stress does. It gives you blinders.
(Music plays, guitar, intensity building)
We did finally solve the problem. After several days of struggling to choke down solid food, my crew gave me something I could stomach. Ensure and other nutrient-dense meals in a can. Or, as my friend Vicky called them…
VICKY: Power shake!
JORDAN: Another thing that worked, my friend Sarah bummed a stick of butter off another runner, melted it into a bowl of lentil soup, and added some peanut butter. I finished the whole bowl off and immediately asked for more.
SARAH: Jordan would like you to buy…
JORDAN: My boyfriend, Ben, was on his way to Infinitus, and Sarah was writing him an email asking him to pick up groceries.
SARAH: …butter… olive oil … V8 juice, orange juice…Maybe more protein shakes?
JORDAN (field recording): Oh yeah, that goes on the list. Like, so many protein shakes.
SARAH: I am writing literally that, “So many protein shakes.”
JORDAN (narration): We also made sure to stock up on things that are full of fat.
SARAH: How do you feel about cheese?
JORDAN (field recording): I feel great. Vicky and I had a whole plan, we talked about all the stuff we’re gonna do. We are just gonna like, ask Ben to buy sticks of butter, and just like melt it over everything. Because I need more calories.
JORDAN (narration): Just so you know, in regular life I don’t just sit around eating giant bowls of butter and cheese. But you absolutely need to eat fat, sugar, and salt during a race like this. Lots of it. So, butter and cheese it was.
(Music plays, cheerful violin)
By this point, I knew the course turn for turn, even in the dark. I was starting to recognize individual rocks and trees, even giving them names in my head. But every day, the course changed.
JORDAN (field recording): The swamp of misery was extra miserable this morning.
JORDAN (narration): And yet, I actually learned to love that swamp, and the rest of the course, too. After a rainstorm, hundreds of tiny orange salamanders appeared on the trail. Stinging nettles sprang up overnight, and I met two guys with buckets heading down to harvest them to make salad.
And then, the not so natural wonders started appearing.
I think first I noticed the doll heads, stuck inside Mason jars on the side of the trail. Yeah, doll heads, the size of apples, severed from baby dolls. Eight of them, all in a row.
(Music fades)
And then there were toy hand-cuffs, also eight of them, on a bridge. They kept popping up, eight rubber duckies and eight squirt guns. Eight pairs of tighty-whities. And a life-size stuffed clown, dangling by its foot from a branch at the top of Mt Romance. It was creepy, but at least it meant you were done with the climb. Well, until the next time, of course.
I later found out the co-race director, Jack, was responsible, although at the time he staunchly denied it.
(Music plays, cheerful ukulele strumming, fades)
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of the story in a moment. But first…
This episode is supported by About the Journey, an original podcast from Marriott Bonvoy Traveler.
What does it mean to travel better? In Season 2 of About the Journey, travel journalist Oneika Raymond takes us on a journey around North America to find out.
I checked out one of their episodes, which was about Dallas, Texas. In it, Oneika visits the Texas Black Invitational Rodeo.
So, lets back up. When I think of cowboys, I usually picture a white dude. Or at least, I used to. But Oneika dismantles that impression. Turns out, a really large percentage of cowboys, historically, were Black, and Oneika shares their history. She also takes us into the thick of the action at this legendary rodeo event, where 300 Black cowboys and cowgirls compete in all your typical rodeo stuff: barrel racing, bull riding, steer roping, etc.
Search for About the Journey in your podcast player of choice. We’ll also include a link in the show notes.
Support for Out There also comes from Athletic Greens.
Athletic Greens is on a mission to help you take ownership of your health.
Their signature product, which is called AG1, is a blend of 75 vitamins, minerals, whole-food sourced ingredients, probiotics, and more. AG1 can help with everything from better sleep quality, to recovery, to gut health.
My colleague Jessica swears by it. Plus, she says, it’s a nice treat every morning.
JESSICA TAYLOR: I was very surprised on how good it tastes. It’s definitely like a green taste, but it’s got like a sweet flavor to it.
WILLOW: AG1 is a small micro-habit with big benefits: it’s one thing you can do every day to take great care of yourself.
To make it easy, Athletic Greens is going to give you a free one-year supply of immune-supporting Vitamin D, and 5 free travel packs with your first purchase. All you have to do is visit athleticgreens.com/outthere, to take ownership over your health and pick up the ultimate daily nutritional insurance! Again, that is athleticgreens.com/outthere.
And now, back to the story.
(Music plays, cheerful ukulele strumming resumes)
JORDAN: The days, and loops, piled up. I ran through snow. I ran through 88-degree heat, which made my heart race like a gerbil’s and wreaked havoc on my GI tract. When I was feeling particularly awful, I listened to some audio messages my friends had sent me, like this one…
HELEN: Hey future Jordan, it’s past Helen. Yeah, I have no idea how fucking long you’ve been running at this point, and I have no idea how much you have left to do, or how you feel. But it’s actually just really inspirational to me that you decided to do this in the first place. Seeing you do these ultra marathons, it’s a reminder that we can do stuff that our body maybe doesn’t always want to do. And I feel like it’s really helped me do more hiking and also, totally separately from that, you’re fucking running so far, it’s completely insane, and, um, yeah, just the fact that your mind, that you decided to do that, is really cool. I feel like I know somebody who’s in the Olympics, but it’s way cooler, it’s actually way cooler than that.
JORDAN: Another friend told me that I was like an astronaut, experiencing something few people ever will and putting untapped human potential to good use. Running can feel solitary, even selfish. So hearing that what I was doing inspired people, got them to go outside, gave them strength when they were having a rough time, it felt like I was running for something bigger than myself. It felt like they were there with me. These messages really helped get me back out on the trail again, and, of course, they made me cry.
(Ukulele music swells, concludes)
Finally, nearly a week in, I was starting to get this race under control.
I started to eat, really eat. 10,000 calories a day, like I was supposed to. When your body is working properly in a race like this, you can return from running a marathon, house a giant burrito or entire pizza in a few minutes, and just keep running, no sloshy stomach or burping, or anything. It felt like I had a brand new body. I felt great, like the race had started over.
Of course, there’s always another problem to solve. Like my feet got bruised, and then so swollen they wouldn’t even fit into my shoes. So I borrowed a larger pair and padded them with rolled up socks. The pain made me feel lightheaded, but I kept moving. Even if sometimes moving meant sitting on a rock every 50 feet to cry, or fix my shoes, or both.
On day six, Ben, my boyfriend, was with me on the 16-mile loop. We were almost back, three miles from the ski lodge at the top of the Swamp of Misery, when…
(Sound of heavy rainfall)
I can’t really call it rain because it didn’t come down in drops, just waves of water. The trail turned into a river. It was so dark some of the other runners had their head lamps on, in the middle of the afternoon.
Lightning was crashing all around us, so close it felt like we were in one of those Faraday cages. I was screaming. Lightning is one of my biggest fears, right behind mountain lions, and failure. Ben pulled me to the side of the trail, and we squatted under a tree as he told me to slow down, to breathe.
You know what I yelled back? “I. Am. Calm!”
Then something snapped. I stopped screaming and started singing instead, making up lyrics about whatever I saw: logs, ferns, the rusty oil drum by the side of the trail. And sorry, you don’t get to hear my improv solo, I didn’t have my recorder with me. I sang right up to the door of the ski lodge, where Vicky met me with the most delicious lukewarm cup of coffee ever.
(Sound of rain fades out. Sound of frogs chirping fades in)
The next morning, day seven, I was up before the sun. My feet looked like feet again, and I was wearing shoes that actually fit. Here I was, kind of in a routine. I’d run head-on into a problem: not eating, not sleeping, my swollen feet, the crazy weather, cramped muscles. And then, with the help of my crew, the other racers, the race staff, we’d figure out how to solve it.
(Music fades in, guitar riff)
Riding out problem after problem wasn’t smooth or easy, but it was forward progress. I was feeling tentatively optimistic, like I was actually going to pull this crazy thing off.
(Music swells, then fades out)
Then, something happened that I couldn’t bounce back from. On lap 14 and a half, I was by myself in the dark, running down the backside of Mt. Romance. My Achilles tendon had been nagging me since day two, but we taped it and got on with it. Now, all at once, it flared up. Bad.
It was like someone was grabbing me by the ankle with vice grips and jabbing a knife into the back of my leg, dull and sharp at the same time. Every step made me gasp. I should have slowed down, walked, stretched. But I stubbornly kept running, maybe in a desperate attempt to prove to myself that I was okay.
I wasn’t. I limped into the ski lodge like a wounded animal, stoically marked that loop on the cardboard chart, walked over to my crew. And then…
JORDAN (field recording): (crying heavily) I pushed through so much, (indiscernible) I know, but I just want to be done. (crying)
JORDAN (narration): I fell apart.
JORDAN (field recording): Why is my nose bleeding? Like, what? I can’t believe that my nose is bleeding. Like, what?
JORDAN (narration): At this point I was lying on the floor, my foot in a bucket of ice, a wad of tissue shoved up my nose.
I’d been through a string of painful, ridiculous things. But this was different. It was clear, in that moment, that I wasn’t going to finish the race. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t run, I couldn’t walk either. I felt everything all at once: frustrated, helpless, angry, confused, and yeah, part of me was even relieved.
Mostly, though, I was overwhelmed. I didn’t quite know how to process it yet. Every time I saw someone head out the door to run, I felt a twinge of jealousy. Because I didn’t know my last loop was going to be my last loop, it was like I didn’t get a chance to properly say goodbye to the trail. I had this silly hope that maybe I’d be able to keep walking, could crutch my way around the course or something.
The next day, I iced and taped my foot. But my ankles looked like puffy pink logs and I could barely put any weight on my Achilles. It was clear I wasn’t going to be logging any more miles. It felt like my body and brain had conspired against me, teamed up to take the decision to quit out of my control.
If you’d asked me before Infinitus what I would have done in this situation, I would have told you that I’d leave. Just pack up and go home. That I’d be too upset, that it would hurt too much to see other people keep going when I couldn’t. But that’s not what happened. I stayed. After all I’d been through, that ski lodge, that trail, they had become my home. And the other amazing, brilliant idiots who started this journey with me became my weird, crazy running family. Leaving before the end of the race was out of the question.
The evening of my injury, new runners were arriving at our tiny village of running lunatics. You know how marathons often have 10Ks or 5Ks so that more people can participate? Well Infinitus had shorter races too. A 72-hour, a 48-hour, and a 24-hour race. Even an 8k. People started flooding the ski lodge for those shorter races. And when they began running, they faced problems, just like I had.
I was in the ski lodge icing my ankle, when I saw this woman sitting with her head in her hands. So I went over and talked to her. Brought her a cookie. Gave her a hug. I was moved by her determination, and I wanted to see her, and all the other runners succeed.
Over the next three days, I helped them. I heated up frozen lasagna for them, popped their blisters, lent them my shoes and my rain coat.
After being on the receiving end of kindness from my mom, my friends, and people I had just met, I got to pay it back. I got to see what it’s like on the other end of a crazy race.
And I got to watch my mom start the 8k race. There was a much bigger crowd there than at the start of the 888k. And instead of the silly little air horn they had for us, the 8K runners got…
(Sound of a cannon blast, pleased crowd)
Yes, a cannon. And I got to give my mom a muddy, sweaty hug when she finished.
(Crowd cheering)
I also got to watch my buddy Greg set off on his final lap, sparkler in hand. Out of the 10 of us who started the 888k, he’s the only one who finished, in an uncanny 8.88 days.
(Music plays, thoughtful piano)
Being on the other side, cheering and helping racers, was fulfilling. But Infinitus left with me something even better. Before the race, failure seemed like the worst thing in the world, worse than lightning. But when I failed, spectacularly, publicly, it was actually not so bad. It was like I had been building up this hard, heavy, shell of stress, and when my body broke, the stress broke away, too.
(Music fades)
Some of my friends told me that right after Infinitus, I sounded like I was on drugs. Little things, like wiggling my toes and walking in a light breeze, these felt like new experiences. I started having more conversations with strangers. Things that otherwise would have stressed me out, like losing my wallet, seemed manageable, almost fun. I was kind of high on failing.
Here’s why. I had been approaching Infinitus, and everything really, like this fly caught in a jar. In running, and in work, relationships, life, I’d seek out the hardest path, then try to brute force my way through. When problems came up, like my calorie deficiency in Infinitus, instead of stopping to figure them out, I’d muscle on. I’d slam myself against the glass, head down, full speed, again and again and again.
I thought that was the only way to get out, to break the glass. And getting that injury sent me tumbling to the bottom of the jar. Now, lying flat on my back, I could finally look up and see that the lid wasn’t even screwed on. All I had to do was slow down and climb right out.
(Music plays, piano and drums rock melody)
WILLOW: That was Jordan Wirfs-Brock. Since that first time at Infinitus, she’s been back every year (except for 2020, when there was no race because of COVID).
If you’re wondering what happened at all of those subsequent Infinitus races, you’re in luck. I’m doing a follow-up interview with Jordan soon. We’re going to talk about how being a part of Infinitus has redefined the way she thinks about herself as a runner. And, we’ll talk about how becoming a parent has played into her ultrarunning career.
That interview is going to be available soon as an exclusive perk for all of our Patreon patrons. So if you’re not already a patron, make sure you sign up so you don’t miss out.
Just go to patreon.com/outtherepodcast, or click the link in the episode description.
Speaking of Patreon, a big thank you to everyone who is currently supporting out there, including Doug Frick, Eric Biederman, Tara Joslin, Phil Timm, Deb and Vince Garcia, and the family of Mike Ludders. Listener support makes up about half of our operating budget, and I am so grateful for your generosity.
(Music fades)
As I mentioned earlier, this is the last episode of our current season. We’re planning to launch a new season in spring, and we’re already hard at work planning that out. Until then, we’ll be releasing periodic bonus episodes, to keep you company over the winter.
Out There is a proud member of Hub & Spoke. Hub & Spoke is a collective of smart, idea-driven independent podcasts.
I’m excited to introduce you to all the shows in the collective over the coming months. And today, I want to tell you about Mementos.
Mementos is a podcast where everyday people talk about a special item that they just can’t part with. They tell the story behind that item. And they explore why they’re so attached to it, and what it says about them.
You can find Mementos wherever you listen to podcasts, or at mementospodcast.com.
(Out There Theme music plays, guitar plucking chords, wistful whistling)
Today’s story was produced by Jordan Wirfs-Brock. Story editing by me, Willow Belden. A big thank you to Jordan’s crew at that first Infinitus. They not only helped her through the dark moments of the race, but they also recorded a lot of the audio you heard in her story. Her crew included Rebecca Wirfs-Brock, Sarah Newman, Lukasz Fidowski, Ben Zeiger and Vicky Petryshyn. Also, thank you to Dan Boyce and Caitlin Peirce for production help and feedback.
Out There’s advertising manager is Jessica Taylor. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
Have a beautiful day, and we’ll see you soon.
(Theme music concludes)
Thank you to PeakVisor for supporting this entire season of Out There.
PeakVisor is an app that can help you plan out hikes, navigate trails, and keep track of your accomplishments in the mountains.
And it’s not just for summer! I don’t know about you, but where I live, it’s already started snowing. And PeakVisor is good for winter sports too.
When you use the app in winter mode, you can see ski lift schedules at all the major resorts, as well as status updates in real time. They’ve even got backcountry skiing itineraries.
Whatever the season, if you’d like your own personal mountain guide, check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
