Complete Instructions on How to Run 100 Miles, Starting at 5 Years Old

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The news hit my Google feed the other day: Rachel Entrekin just became the first woman to win the Cocodona 250-mile ultramarathon in Flagstaff, AZ. It might seem like big news to many, but to me, and surely others, I was like, of course she could win that race. It’s up for grabs. All it takes, once you’re capable of such a thing, is everything aligning just right, which is a lot of things, but not an impossible amount, as she proved, or as any winner does.

I never had a desire to run that far, but I did run farther than many might think possible. Except, it’s possible. Therefore, I’d like to share my instructions on how to do such a thing.

First, at around five years old, begin by running around your backyard, then through the rows of corn in the field adjacent to your backyard as you chase your siblings, then over to the tree across the road. Also, run around and around your grandparents’ property being a silly-dilly, or even across the grocery store parking lot as you try to catch up with your mom because you got mesmerized by the dying wasp on the tarmac by the car tire. This stage is key, but thankfully requires zero motivational tactics.

Next, from eleven to fifteen years old, try soccer, field hockey, and lacrosse, and notice that the best part of practice is running. Make sure to be hopeless at the skill development of the games, but strangely in love with the simple rhythm of running the perimeter of the field as the team warms up for practice. This will be strange because you are the only one on the team who likes running perimeters, but don’t let that deter you. Just run with it. [Sorry. Couldn’t help myself there.]

Then, from age fifteen to eighteen, switch sports to track and cross country and, again, strangely love it, but this time you’re in a group of other strange ones who love this seemingly boring, though mood-altering activity. Notice how the ease of zoning out as you run is a big plus for your increasingly addled, ADHD, emotionally agitated, socially nervous self — or whatever kind of self you have. This is the key stage of any 100-mile prep. It teaches you that running makes you feel better, which becomes the intrinsic motivation for doing it.

At nineteen years old, you are now at the stage of your training when you throw in the towel and go full bore with running. This is instigated by your final attempt at a team sport — crew — in your freshman year of college, where yet again you love the running warmup far more than the squishy, seated grind of rowing on a specified beat in a boat on the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia. Ostensibly, your training for running 100 miles has begun, though it technically began fourteen years earlier.

Now you will sign up for your first 5K race. Notice how freaking excited you are. Notice how the excitement correlates with showing up at the start line. Take in the glory of crossing that finish line, despite the physical ask. Be mindful of the fact that, despite your ambivalence at the start line regarding the likelihood of crossing the finish line, you crossed it. Make a mental note of how long you feel elated post-race, then leverage this for your next 5K, which leads eventually to dreaming up the idea of trying a 10K, of all things.

If you never knew this about yourself before, you realize it now: you like goals. They make you feel happy and purposeful. They could be anything from making dinner that night to making your bed to running an entire 6.2 miles. Feeling excited about a goal is like living in paradise every day.

At this point, you get visionary in your training. You become a dreamer — or an idiot, perhaps — and entertain the thought of running, get this, ten miles. That’s nuts. But no worries. You’re so close to certifiable nuthood, which will happen right after you cross the finish line and entertain — no way, no how — a half marathon.

The next stage of your training to run 100 miles goes like this:

10 turns into 13.1, turns into a bunch more, turns into 26.2, which then leads you to the serendipitous moment of your 100-mile training. You meet up with a runner in your running club who off-handedly mentions she’ll be running, I’m not kidding, 50 miles. You nearly cough up your lungs when she says it casually to a friend as you stand nearby and work really hard to push your lungs back down into place. You must choose then and there from one of two options: either be certain she has, sadly, lost her marbles, or ask whether she has.

She has not, and this is the moment you learn there is such a thing as ultrarunning. You had no idea.

Remember your love of goals? This is the stage of your training when you realize goals get this glistening shine, the harder, more extensive, or more intricate they get. A marathon is a very admirable goal and takes you to various cities, trails, and new sights. A 50K will do the same, while also moving you up the ladder to the last stage of your training. This involves the mental toughness needed to face 100 miles. 50Ks turn into 40 milers, turn into 50 milers, and finally, 100Ks. While the distance of each of these training regimens helps build endurance, more so, it teaches that weathering storms is where goal attainment truly lies.

It isn’t the distance as much as the temperature, difficulty of the trail, elevation gain, precipitation, access to glucose and hydration, and, above all, both friend support and self-support. Laughter is a big part of running 100 miles. Sharing — in the form of blabbing for hours on the trail to your running buddies — builds resilience because you feel like you’re not doing this alone.

The very last part of your training for running 100 miles is the final tweak you will do to your goal. The intention now is not so much to run that distance. What you want more than life itself now is the finisher’s medal and the t-shirt they give you. This might also include a blanket, trophy, hat, or bag — all of them with the name of the race stated on the front. You will be able to drag yourself along 100 miles of a difficult trail because you really, really want a round metal disc and a useless t-shirt. This is what makes it all possible.

And then, you do it.

You run 100 miles. You barf along the way because your stomach gets unbelievably repulsed. You nap on the ground. You see friends and laugh. You walk when it’s too hard. You put duct tape on your feet when they lose their skin. You slather ointment on your thighs so they don’t rub to the point of bone. You embrace stench. You eat watermelon slices at aid stations and recall those moments for the rest of your life. You drink more than the volume of the Atlantic Ocean. You listen to music — oh, I seriously hope you do.

Then you cross the finish line, and voila. Your training, from age five, paid off. You did it.

That, my friends, is how you run 100 miles, or frankly, how you reach any hard, impossible dream. Go for it!

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Have a lovely rest of your week, friends. :-)