People think I'm mad

That has by far been the most common reaction to my Big Red Run adventure. Why would a 40-something man with no sporting history to speak of want to run 250 km across a desert? Most of my friends and colleagues would probably dismiss it as an extreme case of mid-life crisis, or as a bucket list item to be ticked and never given a second thought. But their first impression is always confirmed when I mention that I want to do it again (or something even more extreme next time). And, let's face it, they may have a point!

So why am I doing this? I don’t have a ready answer… Not for fitness, I would probably get better results by running around the block every morning, or by going to the gym. Not really for fundraising either: there are more efficient ways to raise money in terms of effort per dollar collected (car boot sale, sausage sizzle, you name it!) I believe the answer goes much deeper. In fact everyone at the Big Red Run had their own reasons for being there, and these had little to do with either fitness or fundraising. There were of course the type 1 diabetics, who wanted to prove to themselves and to the world that they were capable of exactly the same feats as the rest of us. There were those who had been battling alcoholism or addiction, those with family or relationship issues, those who had spent years struggling with depression. And then there were those who were there to inspire others, who had children or partners with special needs, or who ran in memory of a loved one taken away from them. For almost all of us, this event has some form of a spiritual significance.

In my case, I guess it is helpful to think back on why I started running in the first place. I never thought of myself as an athlete, nor was I heavily involved in any sport since I left school, apart from underused gym memberships. I first started running in 2009 as part of an attempt to get over a severe case of depression. I had noticed that running made me feel better, so I regularly shuffled around the block, probably never completing more than 10K. That first foray into running lasted for about a year, until I moved to Europe for work and found excuses to stop (too busy, too cold, too wet, etc.) My second attempt was in May 2012, when a colleague asked me to be part of a corporate team for the Luxembourg marathon. I reckoned I could handle 10K and started training again. Just two weeks after that I was offered an entry for a 20K race in Brussels, which I completed in 2:19. I started enjoying the feeling, and ran the Auckland half marathon upon returning to New Zealand (2:09). I even started toying with the idea that maybe some day I could attempt a full marathon.

As I have narrated in another post, everything changed after I bought Lisa Tamati’s book in early 2013, then started working with her as my coach. I still don’t quite understand how it happened, but she managed not only to help me achieve that goal of running a marathon (Christchurch, June 2013, 4:48), but also to get me through that gruelling 250K across the Simpson Desert. Over the period I worked with Lisa, depression had once again taken hold, so much so that I started seeing a therapist. The anxiety linked to the Big Red Run probably nullified any relief I got from running, to the extent that I almost dropped out of the event just hours before I was due to fly to Australia.

But then something happened out in the desert. It is not surprising that many of the world’s spiritual traditions began in deserts, there is something in that harsh but beautiful environment that connects to memories deep within us. Running on top of a dune looking at wide open spaces, with no sign of life in any direction, one usually ends up immersed in the present moment, where both the past and the future cease to matter. When the only sounds we hear are our footsteps and our breathing, running becomes a form of meditation, where conscious thought stops and where ideas flow into our minds, seemingly out of nowhere. Whatever questions I had been struggling with, the answers came to me quite naturally over the course of those six days. No one had to give me those answers, the experience made me remember or discover things I had known all along.

I am a different person today, and I believe that is the case for anyone who takes part in an extreme adventure. It looks like the depression is gone for good, and I feel able to handle life’s problems much better than I used to. I want the therapy to continue, that’s why I will do this again.