Finding perspective on the trails

How addressing an issue early can help prevent a crisis

Doug Hay
Guest column

Doug Hay shares lessons learned on the trails, and how those lessons can be applied to the COVID-19 pandemic. Photo courtesy of Jack Sorokin

In the minutes leading up to my first 100 mile ultramarathon, another runner left me with a piece of advice:  

“The second you feel a little irritation or issue pop up, take the time to address it right away. If you wait until it’s a full-blown crisis, it’s too late.” 

That advice, when followed, has saved more of my races than I’d like to admit. 

Removing a pebble from my shoe before it becomes a painful blister, for example. Or eating the second I start feeling low on energy, instead of waiting until I bonk. 

But in the moment, the advice is hard to accept. 

When something seemingly minor pops up, the thought of stopping to remove your shoe or pack, or to slow down enough to take in nutrition feels monumental. It’s easy to brush the problem off as unimportant. 

So you’re left with a choice:
Do you go through the trouble now, or do you hope for the best and deal with the consequences later? 

If you choose to address it now, you’re running on faith that it will pay off in the end. 

And more times than not, those few minutes of inconvenience prove to be well worth the trouble. I know, because sometimes I’ve chosen to ignore the advice. 

Take, for instance, the last five hours of the 2015 Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour race, a race held on Montreat’s Black Mountain campus, where runners repeat a three mile loop for 24 hours.

That year’s race saw on-and-off rain for much of the first half, and as most runners know, running for long distances in wet clothing can wreak havoc on your skin. The whole time I knew I should have been applying lubricant frequently and even changing my clothes once the rain slowed. But I felt strong and was moving well, so I didn’t make time to stop. 

Sure enough, just as the sun rose on the second morning, my inner thighs became so chafed from hours of wet shorts that a wide-legged wobble was my only option for continuing forward. The smooth stride I had benefited from at the beginning of the race turned into hours of painful, ugly, slow hobbling until the clock finally struck 24 hours. 

Right now, as a community, we have a chance to stop and remove the pebbles from our shoes, apply lubricant, or change our shorts. 

I’m the first to admit that what we’ve been asked to do feels monumental...

As my wife’s business has to shut their doors and completely pivot how they offer their services, it feels monumental. 

As my 3-year-old’s preschool closes and we’re left without childcare working two full-time jobs, it feels monumental. 

As that same 3-year-old cries everyday for the friends she’s unable to see, it feels monumental. 

And as I think about my neighbors losing their income and fearing for what could come next, it feels extremely monumental. 

There’s a big part of me that wants to brush these new restrictions and precautions off as unimportant while charging ahead. 

But then I’m reminded of that advice, and how the consequences of pressing forward are incomprehensible – not just for ourselves and our family’s health, but for our fellow community members. 

What feels monumental now pales in comparison to what could come if we’re not careful. 

As we enter the weeks ahead, with more unknowns and tighter restrictions, it’s likely to only get tougher. The town and local businesses will struggle and more workers will go unemployed. 

And I feel certain that for many of us, it will also grow increasingly difficult to keep perspective on why we’re doing this. 

But we must keep the faith.

Acting now is the only way to get through this race.