I found my limit on September 14, 2023, while running up a small mountain near my home. Close to the summit, my heart flipped into a dangerous rhythm called ventricular tachycardia. This had almost certainly happened before, but this time it stuck. My physician brain interpreted the sudden racehorse sensation in my chest and accompanying lightheadedness, nausea, and shortness of breath in a matter-of-fact way: “This needs to be captured on an EKG.” I walked slowly down the trail, doubling over occasionally when I felt my consciousness ebb, and then drove myself to the emergency department. A month and a dozen medical tests later, I would have my diagnosis: arrhythmogenic cardiomyopathy, and with it, a strict instruction to stop exercising – forever.
Arrhythmogenic cardiomyopathy is a rare progressive heart condition that is made worse by endurance exercise and is a common cause of sudden cardiac death in young athletes. It had been impacting my running in more nebulous ways for the seven months preceding this final run. Waves of lightheadedness were frequent during my runs, and my pace spiraled slower and slower.
As I bumped into a suffocatingly low ceiling on my physical abilities, I knew my shuffling pace would leave no room for error at my favorite races. Striving to compensate with mental strength, I became increasingly aware of my “why” for ultrarunning: to see what I was capable of--to close the gap between my physiologic potential and my performance. My physical capacity to train diminished at the same time my schedule became more flexible. As a young physician and a mother of three, I had previously trained in the gaps of life, but finally, I was poised to enter decades without pregnancies or residency work hours. The future beckoned me to chase the elusive goal of reaching my physical potential. My body wasn’t cooperating.
Clinging to my goal, I explained away my struggles as lack of mental toughness. I learned to outsmart the confines my wise mind was imposing for my own safety. Puzzled by the uncomfortably sluggish pace my body was adopting, I would fight to go faster, and then find myself suddenly needing to put my head between my knees to gravity-assist my ineffective heartbeats. I ran close to my capacity for months, oblivious that my escalating abnormal heart rhythms brought me to an arrhythmogenic cliff-edge every time I climbed a hill. My mission to close the gap between potential and performance, anticipated as a lifelong quest, came to an anticlimactic end on September 14. I found my limit. You could say I won.
In retrospect, I had abundance in the 14 years I was an ultrarunner. I have had a warm lemon risotto pancake on a snow-covered mountaintop at sunrise. I have cried in relieved jubilation on reaching the finish with minutes to spare. I’ve climbed a mountain so steep I had to sit on a rock to catch my breath. I’ve planned to win a race and slogged through sleet filled mud to do so; I’ve also overestimated my abilities and been humbled. I’ve pouted on a log in the sweltering heat with only the mosquitos to urge me forward. I’ve shivered in the wet cold and received kindness through a pair of gloves from another runner. I’ve had my feet scrutinized and bandaged before being sent back on the trail by the unrelenting ultrarunning community. In short, I’ve experienced the array of discomforts and pleasures that ultrarunning has to offer. The richness of these runs is mine to treasure.
I recognize that framing my journey as a victory is a rationalization that conceals a deep longing. I would much sooner find a new “why” than a new “what.” Still, ultrarunning exists for more than just its athletes. The world outside of exercise is vast. Finger strokes on a keyboard have a power like footfalls on a trail. It’s time for the next chapter.
-Jordan (written in November 2023)
Exquisitely said. Thanks for sharing 🤗
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